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JESUS CHRIST'S MEN 




THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD 

From the painting by W. Holman Hunt 



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1813 1913 

JESUS CHRIST'S 
MEN 




a Prog****, 1810-1826 


BY 

CAROLINE ATWATER MASON 

" Others come from the Interior of the country, 
■where the name of Jesus Christ is little known. 
They ask, 'Are you Jesus Christ's man ? Give 
us a writing that tells about Jesus Christ.' " 

— Adonlram Judson 

PHILADELPHIA 

THE GRIFFITH & ROWLAND PRESS 

BOSTON CHICAGO ST. LOUIS 
TORONTO, CAN. 


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* 






t> 



Copyright 1914 by 
A. J. ROWLAND, Secretary 



Published January, 1914 



FEB -5 1914 

©CI. A3 6 ■ : Z 
«-6/ 



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PREFATORY NOTE 



Deeply impressed with the courage and self-sacri- 
fice of the founders of the Baptist missionary enter- 
prise, and with the marvelous results which have 
followed their initiative, I desire in this unpretend- 
ing work to awaken a like impression in the mind 
of the present generation. To my thought, Ann 
Hasseltine is not less holy nor heroic than Joan of 
Arc; and Adoniram Judson seems to me as truly 
an apostle as Paul, no less a hero than Livingstone. 

Does not this year, marking the passage of a cen- 
tury since American Baptists entered upon a mis- 
sionary epoch, challenge us all, old and young, to 
know, to love, to reverence, our own saints, mar- 
tyrs, and heroes with the passion of loyalty which 
has from of old characterized the Church Universal? 

In " Jesus Christ's Men " I do not attempt to 
give a delineation of the organization and work of 
each of our missionary societies, but a dramatic 
presentation of the origin of early Baptist missions, 
with certain episodes occurring between the years 
1810 and 1826. 

[v] 



This book is not, strictly speaking, a pageant; 
it is, however, my hope that it will serve as basis 
for popular presentation in this significant year 
and hereafter. Such presentation can be made 
wholly without scenery, although the effects would 
be heightened by some simple scenic devices and 
suggestions. The dialogue is based upon, and often 
renders, the actual utterances of the persons intro- 
duced. Careful study has been given to making the 
phraseology and point of view consonant with the 
period, i. e., the second and third decades of the 
nineteenth century, and costumes should be studied 
to conform to those of that time. 

Many of the scenes are historically authentic, for 
instance, all those laid in Burma; while none of 
them violate historic probability or essential truth. 

Caroline A. Mason. 

Waldfried, Beverly, Mass. 
September, 1913. 



[vi] 



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CONTENTS 

I 

Prologue 

Tableau, The Messenger 
Scene, The Messengers 

II 

Colloquy between the Spirit of Love and 
the Spirit of Evil 

III 

The Apostles to the East, 1810-1826 
(In eleven scenes) 

IV 

The Apostles to the West, 18 14- 1826 
(In six scenes) 

Finale 
[vii] 



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CHARACTERS 



PROLOGUE 

The Light of the World. 

Spirit of Love. 

Spirit of Evil. 

Faith in Missions. 

Villagers (five speakers). 

Missionary Purpose. 

Womanhood in Missions. 

Volunteers, women, identical with Ann Hasseltine and 

Harriet Atwood. 
Volunteers, men, identical with Judson, Newell, and 

Rice. 
Chorus; Village Folk (thirty in number). 



II 

COLLOQUY BETWEEN SPIRIT OF LOVE AND 
SPIRIT OF EVIL 

Spirit of Love. 

Spirit cf Evil, identical with Spotted Jailer. 



[ix] 



* 



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III 

THE APOSTLES TO THE EAST 



Clergymen or Fathers: 
Doctor Worcester. 
Doctor Spring. 
Doctor Morse. 
Doctor Griffin. 
Doctor Woods. 
Doctor Stuart. 

Delegate: 

Mr. Bartlet. 

Candidates for Missionary 
Work : 
Adoniram Judson. 
Luther Rice. 
Samuel Newell. 
Gordon Hall. 
Samuel Nott. 
Bradford Pastor. 
Doctor Bolles, pastor of 
the First Baptist Church 
in Salem. 
Ann Hasseltine, or Mrs. 



Harriet Atwood, or Mrs. 
Newell. 

Matrons: 

Mrs. White. 

Mrs. Brown. 

Mrs. Green. 

Mrs. Day. 
Miss Fairly, organist. 
Moung Ing, Burmese con- 
vert. 
Burmese Commissioner. 
Spotted Jailer, or Spirit of 

Evil. 
Doctor Price. 
Mr. Gouger. 

Gen. Sir Archibald Camp- 
bell. 
Orderlies (two). 
Lieutenant. 
Surgeon. 
Nurse. 
Spirit of Love. 



Judson. 

Chorus ; Congregation ; Guests ; Buddhist Monks ; Burmese 
women, girls, and children; Burmese woman with 
baby; Burmese men (six to ten) ; Burmese prison 
attendants; Prisoners; Bengalee servant of Mrs. Jud- 
son; Mrs. Judson's baby; British staff officers; Bur- 
mese commissioners with attendants. 



[x] 



* 



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IV 



THE APOSTLES TO THE WEST 



Spirit of Love. 

Spirit of Evil. 

Doctor Worcester. 

Doctor Bolles. 

John Mason Peck. 

Sarah Peck. 

Children, Eli and Hannah 

Peck. 
Luther Rice. 



Isaac McCoy. 

Judge Lieb, U. S. Commis- 
sioner. 

Gosa and Noaquett, Indian 
youths. 

Indian Chiefs : Topenebe, 
Noonday, and Chebass. 

Liquor Traders (tivo). 

Clerk. 



Indian braves, twenty or thirty; Indian women and chil- 
dren; two half-breed Indians; thirty to eighty persons 
to represent Esquimaux, Africans, Indians, Mexicans, 
etc. (p. 152). 



[xi] 



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FINALE 

Spirit of Love. 

Trumpeter. 

Chorus. 

Nations personified: Burma, Africa, Siam, China, South- 
ern India, Assam, Japan. 

Standard Bearers : A. B. F. M. S., W. B. F. M. S., A. B. 
P. S., A. B. H. M. S., W. A. B. H. M. S. 

Representatives of work of A. B. F. M. S. 

Native Christian women in costumes of their lands ; Amer- 
ican women, teachers, missionaries, doctors, nurses; 
women of the Board; girls and children. 

Representatives of A. B. P. S. 

Representatives of Mission Fields of A. B. H. M. S. 

Joanna Moore with Negro children. 

Representatives of classes and nationalities on Women's 

Home Mission fields; also of Woman's Board and of 

Training School. 



[xii] 



PROLOGUE 



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Prologue 

THE MESSENGER 

Tableau: The Light of the World 

Representation of Holman Hunt's " Light of 
the World " now at Keble College, Oxford. Be- 
low the picture, which must be enclosed by frame, 
are the words, illuminated: 

" Behold, I stand at the door and knock." 

Scene: The Messengers 

Have back of stage hung with dark drapery — no 
scenery. Stage wholly dark. The figure of Faith 
(see page /)< — the child — is seen dimly at the right 
foreground, accompanied by Spirit of Love. A 
knocking heard. Faith looks up to Spirit and 
says: I hear a footstep. Some one is passing by. 

Spirit. You do not hear a step. You feel a 
presence. But listen. 

Knocking. Faith and Spirit listen with rapt 
and awestruck look. A single light as of a taper is 
seen to appear in dark background. 

m 



Chorus 

Knocking! Knocking! Who is there? 
Waiting, waiting, oh, how fair ! 
'Tis a pilgrim, strange and kingly, 
Never such was seen before. 
Ah, my soul, for such a wonder 
Wilt thou not undo the door? 

While this is being sung single lights spring up 
here and there. Bells chime twelve. Knocking re- 
peated. No further response of lights. 

Faith. W T ho is it, Spirit? 

Spirit. One who says: Behold, I stand at the 
door and knock. It is even the Messenger of the 
Covenant, whom you delight in. For the Lord, 
whom you seek, shall suddenly come to his temple. 

Faith. And these lights, whence come they? 

Spirit. If any man openeth the door I will come 

in to him and he to me, saith the Messenger. But 

few there be that light their lamps and open. 

Listen ! 

Chorus 

Knocking! Knocking! What, still there? 
Waiting, waiting, grand and fair, 
Yes, the pierced hand still knocketh, 
And beneath the crowned hair 
Beam the patient eyes, so tender, 
Of thy Saviour waiting there. 

[4] 



During the singing Spirit of Love and Faith 
go out; a light or two appears, but all lights are 
now lost in the dawn light, which is shed on the 
scene. 

Village folk, about thirty in number, emerge from 
different entrances. Anxiety, curiosity, even awe, 
are on their faces. They come together near the 
front in a scattering group. 

First. They say some one passed through the 
village last night, a Stranger. 

Second. I heard some one. 

First. When? At what hour? 

Second. I think about midnight. 

Third. It was a little before the cock-crowing 
that I heard the knock. 

Fourth. Oh, you heard some one knock! At 
your door then, I judge, as it was at mine. 

First. Did you open the door? 

Third. Not I. 

Second. Nor I. I have to have my sleep at 
night or I cannot work by day. 

Fifth. That is the way with me, also. But it 
was a strange thing, that knocking — it was not loud, 
but 

Second. No, not loud, but persistent, you know. 
It was almost irresistible, and yet 

Third. You resisted it. (With sarcasm.) 

Second drops head without reply. 

[5] 



Third. Well, good morning to you, neighbors. 
I must go into the field. It is time to plow. (Goes 
out at right.) 

Second. Yes. And after that it will be time to 
sow. And then to reap. But I wish I knew who 
it was 

Fourth, Fifth, and others of the village folk 
go out at the left. 

First. Who it was that knocked at your door in 
the night? 

Second nods head gravely. 

First and Second of the village folk go out at 
the left. 

Chorus 

I know of a land that is sunk in shame; 

Of hearts that faint and tire ; 
And I know of a Name, a Name, a Name, 

Can set that land on fire ; 
Its sound is a brand, its letters flame ; 
I know of a Name, a Name, a Name, 

Will set that land on fire. 

During singing all have left the stage by twos and 
threes except eight persons. No one of these has 
spoken. A look of exaltation is perceptible on each 
one of their faces. They are as follows: 

A. An old man. He is wrapped in a dark gar- 
ment falling to the ground. He is of venerable yet 

[6] 



vigorous and benevolent appearance. His hair is 
zvhite, and he has a flowing white beard. He 
represents the Missionary Purpose. One hand 
rests upon the shoulder of a child, (B) Faith. 

B. A boy of ten years, dressed in a blue tunic, 
with long blue hose and sandals. He has a face of 
childlike innocence and purity. (Faith in Mis- 
sions.) 

C. A matron of forty years, of quiet, dignified, 
and gentle bearing. Serenity, peace, kindness are 
stamped upon her face. Her hair is smoothly parted 
and braided in a coronet at the back of her head. 
She is dressed in a plain dress of deep wine color, 
with white bands at neck and sleeves — a costume 
not indicative of especial date or locality. (Woman- 
hood in Missions.) 

D and E are two maidens in the typical Puritan 
costume, in gray and white. They have the free, 
spontaneous ways and speech of young girls, and 
seem full of gladness, although a look of solemn 
question is upon their faces. (Volunteers.) 1 

F and G and H are youths of not more than 
twenty years. They wear pilgrim cloaks zvith a 
touch of military fashioning, and have each a staff 
in hand. There is some imprint of heroic purpose, 
of fire and resolve in their faces. (Volunteers.) 2 

1 D is identical with Ann Hasseltine, E with Harriet Atwood, who 
appear later. 

2 F appears later as Judson, G as Newell, H as Rice. 

[7] 



These eight persons look one upon the other ear- 
nestly, and hands are held out and taken each in 
another's clasp while they speak. 

A. Friends, you too have heard the call. I see 
it in your faces. 

C. Yes, father; but we were sleeping, and only 
the knocking waked us. But you had your light 
burning, and were like unto those who wait for 
their Lord. So when the call came, you opened 
your door immediately. 

A. I knew not whether the Messenger should 
come in the second watch or come in the third 
watch, and so I listened. The night has been long; 
but the day of the right hand of the Most High 
approaches. 

C. And these sons and daughters have also 
opened their door to the Messenger? 

D. Yes. We have heard the call. 

E. We are glad. But also we are afraid. We 
know not whither his light will lead us. 

F. Fear not. Follow the gleam. 

G. Yes, the gleam, the gleam of his light! We 
saw it at midnight, distant, and then coming near. 

H. Then we heard his hand upon the door, and 
when he spoke we knew him. 

F. Yes, we knew his voice in our hearts' core — 
the voice of the Messenger sent unto us to send 
us forth to work the work of God. We trembled 

[8] 



for joy and for fear also, for we know that bonds 
and imprisonment await us; but where he leads 
we will follow. 

H. I am ready to go with him both into prison 
and to death. 

B. I felt his presence; I heard him knocking at 
the door of our hearts. 

C. Do you know his message? 
B. Yes, it is this: 

I am sent to bind up the broken-hearted, 
To proclaim liberty to the captives, 
The opening of the prison to them that are 
bound. 

Chorus 

Peace be unto you. 

As the Father hath sent me, 

Even so send I you. 

'All have joined hands and listen solemnly. 

But are ye able to drink of the cup? 

Are ye able to be baptized with the baptism? 

'All. We are able. 

In concert they recite, with wrists crossed and 
hands clasped, the "Martyr's Song" of Christina 
Rossetti. While they recite there appears upon the 
left breast of each a shining cross. 3 

3 This cross can be of phosphorescent material, hitherto concealed 
by folds of the clothing, or arranged by means of an electric battery, 
adjusted during the last movement. 

[9] 



We meet in joy, though we part in sorrow; 
We part to-night, though we meet to-morrow. 
Be it flood or blood the path that's trod, 
All the same it leads home to God. 

What are these that glow from afar, 
These that lean over the golden bar, 
Strong as the lion, pure as the dove, 
With open arms and hearts of love? 
They are the blessed ones gone before, 
They are the blessed forevermore. 
Out of great tribulation they went 
Home to their home of heaven — content. 

God the Father give us grace 

To walk in the light of Jesus' face ; 

God the Son give us a part 

In the hiding-place of Jesus' heart; 

God the Spirit so hold us up 

That we may drink of Jesus' cup. 

Death is short, and life is long; 

Satan is strong, but Christ more strong. 

At the question of the second verse the hands 
are unclasped and are lifted in a gesture of wonder 
and greeting, while all eyes are fixed at a point 
forward and above. 

At the beginning of third verse each speaker 
crosses the wrists over the breast, and all eyes are 

[10] 



lifted in prayer. A pause is made after the words 
" Jesus' cup'/ and the last two lines are spoken with 
eyes fixed straight before the speakers as if, sup- 
plication being ended, these last words are spoken 
to strengthen their own resolves. 
Inner curtain drops. 



["] 



II 



COLLOQUY BETWEEN THE 

SPIRIT OF LOVE AND 

THE SPIRIT OF EVIL 



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II 



Enter at front of stage Spirit of Love and 
Spirit of Evil. 

Spirit of Love, a tall, slender male figure, draped 
severely in silver zvhite with a suggestion of armor — 
metal breastplate and helmet. A wreath of olive 
leaves around the helmet. He must be rendered as 
an ideal figure, at once commanding and pathetic; 
serene, unmoved like the Greek chorus, but never- 
theless full of suppressed passion, the " passion of 
missions'' 

Spirit of Evil/ a big, burly male figure, with 
battlemented metal crown, elf-locks, and a spotted 
face. The spots have been made by branding with 
hot iron. A single tunic-shaped garment reaches 
to the ankles; it is yellow, with red symbols and 
hieroglyphics taken from heathen imagery. The 
face wears a subtly brutal, sneering expression. 

Spirit of Evil. Are you deluded with the idea 
that these pallid, provincial enthusiasts can to the 
smallest extent undermine the strongholds of cus- 
tom — immemorial and honorable? That they can 

4 Identical with the " Spotted Jailer." See p. 71. 

[15] 



destroy the symbols of faiths which were ancient 
before (He makes a gesture vaguely indicating the 
letter X) was born? 

Spirit of Love. Their purpose is not to under- 
mine or destroy, but to fulfil. There will be a 
struggle; there will be strong agony; there will be 
death. But love will conquer. These are the 
Messengers of Love. All that is pure and good they 
will strengthen. All that is wounded and bruised 
they will seek to heal. All that is base and cruel 
they will seek to transform. 

Spirit of Evil. A rather large undertaking! 
(Laughs cynically.) Something of an achievement 
for this puny handful! Poor souls! Little can 
they, in this new and meager land, conceive the 
teeming millions who bow before me in the old, 
historic countries. 

Spirit of Love. They that be with us are more 
than they that be with you. 

Spirit of Evil. And yet they that are with me 
are not to be despised. There are various methods 
known to Orientals — and methods singularly ef- 
fectual — of betrayal, of torture, of bonds, of slow 
death. If I lift my hand 

Spirit of Love. You can break the body. That 
I know. But over the soul in which dwells the 
divine life — do your worst, you have no power. 

[16] 



Spirit of Evil. Xo power! (Laughs.) Do 
my worst! Interesting suggestion! (Mockingly. > 
I will arrange, even now, a few details. (Goes out 
at left.) 

Sound of trumpet. 

Spirit of Love. Nevertheless, the messengers 
shall go forth, sent as He himself was sent on his 
divine mission. They shall be destitute, afflicted, 
tormented, of whom the world is not worthy. But 
One standeth within the shadow, keeping watch 
above his own. 

Trumpeter, sound for the last Crusade ! 
Sound for the nre of the Red-Cross Kings, 

Sound for the passion, the splendor, the pit}', 
That swept the world for a dead man's sake, 

Sound, till the answering trumpet rings 
Clear from the heights of the Holy City. 

O'er broken shrine and abandoned wall, 

Trumpeter, sound the great recall. 
Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us ; 

Sound for the last Crusade. 3 

Z4 long tr t blast behind scene. 

Curtain. 

Interval, during which Chorus and audience rise 
and join in singing: 

5 This verse and that on p. 163 from " The Trumpet Call," by 
Alfred Noyes, "Atlantic Month'y." Nrvember, 1910. 

[17] 



>J< Qjesausi (Jtyefet'si Qfatn ►& 



The Lord into his garden comes, 
The spices yield their rich perfumes, 

The lilies grow and thrive ; 
Refreshing showers of grace divine 
From Jesus flow to every vine 

And make the dead revive. 



Oh, that this dry and barren ground 
In springs of water may abound — 

A fruitful soil become ; 
The desert blossoms like the rose, 
When Jesus conquers all his foes, 

And makes his people one. 

3 
The glorious time is rolling on, 
The gracious work is now begun — 

My soul a witness is. 
Come, taste and see the pardon free 
To all mankind, as well as me; 

W,ho come to Christ may live. 

— (Tune: Garden.) 



[18] 



HI 
THE APOSTLES TO THE EAST 

1810-1826 

IN ELEVEN SCENES 



"No enterprise comparable to this has been em- 
braced by the American church. All others retire 
before it, like the stars before the sun." 

— Samuel Spring. 



►£ ?J*&xx& Qtfxi&t*& 0$erc >Ji 



III 



SCENE I 

Time. Nine o'clock Thursday morning, June 28, 
1810. 

Place. Pastor's study in Congregational Meet- 
ing-house, Bradford, Massachusetts. 

Present: Doctor Spring, of Newburyport; Doc- 
tor Worcester, of Salem; Mr. Bartlet, dele- 
gates to General Association. 

Bartlet. You gentlemen have the advantage 
of me altogether in this matter which I hear is to 
be the order of the day. I came in from Dover 
only last night. Who are these youths who seem to 
be turning the ecclesiastical world of Massachusetts 
upside down? 

Spring. You know Gordon Hall? 

Bartlet. Oh, yes. He is a most promising 
man. He has recently had an advantageous call 
to the Church of the Standing Order in Woodbury, 
Connecticut, I believe. 

Spring. Yes, that is true. But he will not ac- 
cept it. Gordon Hall says he will not settle over 
" any parish in Christendom.'' 

c [21] 



Worcester. Yes; Hall came to Andover a day 
or two ago, strangely moved, it seems, by a letter 
from Adoniram Judson, that selfsame day received. 

Bartlet. And who, pray, is this Judson? I 
have heard his name on all sides? 

Worcester. An Andover student, and a young 
man of singular power and promise. His father is 
pastor at Plymouth — a noble old man, a Yale 
alumnus. Judson is only twenty-two, and yet Grif- 
fin wants him as his colleague. 

Bartlet. Why, Griffin's church is the largest in 
Boston! That is an extraordinary opening for any 
fellow before leaving divinity school. 

Worcester. Let me tell you what Judson said 
to his sister when she was exulting over such a 
prospect for him. " I shall never live in Boston. 
I have much farther than that to go." 

Bartlet. There is something a trifle cryptic, a 
little mysterious in these boyish utterances. What 
is at work? 

Spring. Mysterious is precisely the word, Mr. 
Bartlet. For about two years, there has been an 
influence — which I can only explain as the Spirit of 
God working upon the hearts of men — moving 
powerfully among our college students. 

Bartlet. In which institutions particularly? 
Who are to the fore in the matter? Give me all 

[22] 



the information you can in a nutshell, since this 
subject is coming up for discussion to-day. 

Spring. Yes, and I expect Judson himself here 
at any time now, to confer with us regarding the 
purpose of himself and his friends. They are, in 
fact, about to petition the Association regarding 
their duty. Doctor Worcester, I wish you would 
answer Mr. Bartlet's questions. No one in this 
country has this subject more deeply at heart than 
yourself. 

Worcester. Well, Mr. Bartlet, the watchword 
of this strange new movement may be given in the 
words of one of its young apostles, " Foreign Mis- 
sions and Missions for life." Judson — the phrase 
is his — devoted himself solemnly to this enterprise 
last February, feeling himself definitely drawn to 
preach the gospel in Asia. He appears not to have 
been influenced by any person, but by a sermon 
of Claudius Buchanan, " The Star in the East." 
But observe! entirely apart from Judson, in fact, 
nearly two years earlier, at Williams College, a small 
number of students were somehow led to form 
themselves secretly into a Society for Missionary 
Inquiry. Their initial idea was the duty of preach- 
ing Christ among the aborigines of this country; 
but this idea soon expanded to that of " the Field 
is the World." They called themselves the " Breth- 
ren," and adopted a constitution. It was strictly 

[23] 



a secret society, and these students, among whom 
Samuel J. Mills was the leader — he is now a junior 
at Andover — actually used to hold their meetings 
beneath the shadow of a great haystack on the 
college grounds. Their minutes were kept in cipher, 
and all their activities were " inviolably secret." 

Bartlet. You will forgive me, if these par- 
ticular features seem to me to savor of a species of 
boyish romance, of youthful fanaticism ; what might 
be called, possibly, a kind of sanctified adventurous- 
ness. 

Spring. Without doubt, these young men have 
the weakness as well as the strength of youth. But, 
I like your phrase — " sanctified adventurousness." 
If there are to be foreign missionaries, I should 
think they must needs be saints-adventurers. But 
please proceed, Doctor Worcester. Time is short. 

Worcester. Very well, then; you see the situa- 
tion. At Williams were Mills, Luther Rice — a fine, 
magnetic spirit — a man named Richards, Gordon 
Hall also, and one or two others, solemnly self- 
dedicated to work for the heathen. At Andover 
were Judson, Samuel Nott, and Samuel Newell. 
Does it not seem to you evident that the Spirit 
of God has been operating in different places and 
upon different individuals, preparing a way for 
the American church to carry the gospel to the 
heathen world? 

[24] 



Bartlet. Do these men know at the present 
time of each other's purpose? 

Spring. Oh, yes. You see the Williams men 
came to Andover to prepare for the ministry; they 
came — it is worth mentioning — explicitly pledged, 
each man, to " hold himself in readiness to go on 
a mission when and where duty may call." They 
were not long in the seminary before they dis- 
covered the little group of upper classmen there 
under like pledge. These men — Judson, Nott, and 
Newell — were quickly added to the secret organ- 
ization, " the Brethren." Gradually the objective 
became for all, a mission in Asia. 

Worcester. By the way, Judson is a Brown 
man, Newell is a Harvard man, and Nott comes to 
Andover from Union. 

Bartlet. I find it difficult to keep these names 
clearly in mind, having met none of the young 
gentlemen in question. Whom would you call the 
leading spirit, Doctor Worcester, among them all? 

Worcester. Without doubt, Mills was the 
prime mover at Williams ; but since the fusion with 
the Andover men, Judson is the most conspicuous 
figure. There is the ardor, the enthusiasm, and 
yet the profound mysticism in his temperament 
which, to my mind, constitute the religious genius. 

Spring. It is too soon to tell, but my opinion is 
that Judson is destined to play a great part in 

[25] 



religious history, if the flame of his spiritual fervor 
does not burn up his physical frame prematurely. 

Bartlet. This is most interesting, and I assure 
you, brethren, I am in profound sympathy with such 
a movement as you describe; but, being of a prac- 
tical turn of mind, Paul's old question keeps ring- 
ing in my ear: "How shall they preach (the gos- 
pel to the heathen) except they be sent?" !And 
who is to send them? Have any definite measures 
been taken by the Fathers of the church in response 
to this impulse of the Andover men? 

Worcester. Three days ago four of these 
youths met several of us at the home of Professor 
Stuart, in Andover, and laid their burning desire 
before us. All are exemplary members of the 
Standing Order. We were deeply impressed with 
a sense of their devout consecration, and the sub- 
lime reach of their faith. It was a rebuke to our 
own weak and waiting attitude. And yet, there 
was no trace of undue self-confidence. They were 
unpretending, modest, of a tender, childlike spirit, 
and well understanding the great issues involved 
in their undertaking. 

Spring. It was a momentous hour. The con- 
ference was solemn, intellectual, devotional, at- 
tended with fervent prayer. 

Bartlet. Did all of you, the elders of the com- 
pany, give unqualified approval? 

[26] 



Spring. We ranged from passionate pleading, as 
of Doctor Griffin, who can see only the right hand 
of God manifest, to calm approval, such as was 
shown by Brother Worcester. 

Worcester. However, there was for a time 
some distinct opposition. But one present remarked 
that it would be better not to try to stop God in 
his working, and after that no one seemed inclined 
to voice disfavor. On the whole, the sense of the 
meeting was favorable. 

Bartlet. All of this is excellent ; but, of course, 
it does not assume the stupendous enterprise of 
sending men out to Eastern lands. There must be 
something, some organization, some financial and 
ecclesiastical basis before they can depart on such 
a mission. Where is this to come from? There is 
certainly no such organization in this country; of 
that I am sure. No missionaries have ever been 
sent from these shores to the heathen. 

Worcester. Perfectly true. And, from the 
mother country, no Protestant missionaries were 
ever sent to the Orient until a few years ago. We 
must admit that the Reformation has not produced, 
m these two or three centuries since its work began, 
a vitally missionary church. The Roman Com- 
munion, especially the Jesuit body, has been far, 
far ahead of us in this respect. Francis Xavier is 
a notable example. 

[27] 



Bartlet. There are, however, English Prot- 
estant missionaries at the present time in India I 
know, of course. English Congregationalists have 
established the London Missionary Society. 

Spring. Ten years ago the Church of England 
also organized missionary work, but it is a singular 
circumstance that the small sect of the Baptists 
were the pioneers in the field. Their work began 
in 1792. 

Bartlet. The Baptists? I had forgotten that 
fact. Probably they stand for more in England 
than here. 

Worcester. No, I think not. Their first mis- 
sionary, Carey, the first English Protestant foreign 
missionary, was a cobbler. He went out eighteen 
years ago. 

Bartlet. I simply lost sight of the fact that 
Carey was a Baptist. Surprising! He has become 
very famous as a linguist and Orientalist, has he 
not? 

Spring. Yes. A marvelous man, and doing 
perhaps the most important evangelical work to- 
day in India. God sometimes uses the weak things 
of this world, we must remember, to confound the 
mighty. 

Worcester. These facts, regarding the British 
missionary organizations, point clearly to the feasi- 
bility of our body considering a like enterprise. 

[28] 



Your question, Mr. Bartlet, regarding a basis from 
which these young brothers can be sent forth on 
their mission was the question which engaged Doc- 
tor Spring and me Wednesday night as we drove 
over here from Andover. Plainly, the call of God 
has come to us Christians of Massachusetts to or- 
ganize for this specific purpose. We dare not 
doubt it. 

Bartlet. Do you see your way definitely in the 
matter? 

Spring. Yes. Doctor Worcester and I will have 
to make a clean breast of it. We are at this moment 
arch-conspirators, for we went so far last night as 
to frame a proposition to be laid before the Asso- 
ciation for the composition of what we would style 
" The American Board of Commissioners for For- 
eign Missions." We think nine members would be 
a suitable number, and we have drawn up, in ten- 
tative form, their powers and privileges. 

Bartlet. If this measure goes through, then 
there will be an organization to receive and con- 
sider an undertaking of this nature. 

Spring. Precisely. The appeal having been 
made 

Knock at the door. Enter Judson, Rice, and 
Newell. They have walked ten miles from An- 
dover. They are received cordially and presented 
to Bartlet. 

[29] 



Worcester. Mr. Judson, let us proceed at once, 
as it is nearly time for the session to open. Have 
you prepared the petition as advised? 

Judson. Yes, Doctor Worcester, with the help 
of these other men. (Takes paper from pocket.) 

Spring. Would it not expedite matters if Mr. 
Judson were to read this communication to us him- 
self? 

Bartlet. I should esteem it a peculiar privilege 
if I were allowed to hear a document, which, I am 
becoming convinced, may be regarded by generations 
to come as the corner-stone of a great structure. 

Judson reads petition, wholly or in part. 

" The undersigned, members of the Divinity Col- 
lege, respectfully request the attention of their 
reverend Fathers, convened in the General Associa- 
tion at Bradford, to the following statement and 
inquiries : 

" They beg leave to state that their minds have 
been long impressed with the duty and importance 
of personally attempting a mission to the heathen; 
that the impressions on their minds have induced 
a serious, and, as they trust, a prayerful considera- 
tion of the subject in its various attitudes, particu- 
larly in relation to the probable success and the 
difficulties attending such an attempt; and that, 
after examining all the information which they can 
obtain, they consider themselves as devoted to this 

[30] 



work for life, whenever God, in his providence, 
shall open the way. 

" They now offer the following inquiries, on which 
they solicit the opinion and advice of this Associa- 
tion: Whether, with their present views and feel- 
ings, they ought to renounce the object of missions 
as either visionary or impracticable ; if not, whether 
they ought to direct their attention to the Eastern 
or the Western world; whether they may expect 
patronage and support from a missionary society in 
this country, or must commit themselves to the 
direction of a European society; and what prepara- 
tory measures they ought to take, previous to actual 
engagement. 

" The undersigned, feeling their youth and inex- 
perience, look up to their Fathers in the church, 
and respectfully solicit their advice, direction, and 
prayers. 

Signed, 

Adoniram Judson, Jr., 
Samuel Nott, Jr., 
Samuel J. Mills, 
Samuel Newell, 
Luther Rice, 
James Richards." 6 

6 Adoniram Judson sailed for India February 19, 1812; labored 
as missionary in Burma, under auspices of the Baptist denomination, 
until his death, April 12, 1850. 

Samuel Nott sailed for India February 24, 181 2. He worked as 

[31] 



Spring. This is well stated, and an adequate 
setting forth of the contention of you young gen- 
tlemen. Are we agreed on this? (Addressing 
Doctor Worcester and Mr. Bartlet.) 

Worcester. I entirely approve. 

Bartlet. The statement is manly and straight- 
forward; the tone, respectful and becoming. 

Spring. But I had not understood that there 
were to be so many applicants. (He takes the paper 
from Judson.) I supposed the number to be four. 

Worcester. Yes. I did not know that you, 
Mr. Rice, and also Mr. Richards, expected to offer 
yourselves at this time as ready to go out if sent. 

Rice. I have not been as long in Andover 
Seminary as these other men, but my conviction of 
duty in the matter dates back to my college days in 
Williams. Yes, Doctor Spring; I am ready, and 
so is Richards. 

missionary in Bombay. His health failing, he returned to the 
United States in 1815, where he resided until his death. 

Samuel J. Mills was ordained to the ministry in 1815; was active 
in the organization of the United Foreign Missionary and the 
American Colonization Societies. He visited Africa in 181 8, died on 
his return voyage, and was buried at sea June 16, 181 8. 

Samuel Newell sailed for India February 19, 1812. After a 
year or two spent in the Isle of France and Ceylon, he joined the 
mission in Bombay under Gordon Hall and Samuel Nott. Here he 
labored as missionary until his death, May 29, 1821. 

Luther Rice sailed for India February 24, 1812. On account of 
change of views regarding baptism and constitutional inability to 
endure the climate of India, he returned to the United States the 
following year. Here he labored as agent and missionary of the 
Baptist General Convention until his death, September 25, 1836. 

James Richards sailed for Ceylon October 23, 181 5. In spite of 
steadily declining health, he did the work of a devoted missionary 
until his death, August 3, 1822. 

[32] 



Spring. That is wholly right and honorable on 
your part, but we must move cautiously in a matter 
of such vast importance. Remember the Associa- 
tion is wholly unprepared for a request like this. 
It is a conservative body. They might look with- 
out disfavor upon such a purpose in the minds of 
three men, or even four. But, I believe, if more 
names are signed, they would be seized with alarm, 
and the idea of a kind of contagious fanaticism 
breaking out in Andover Seminary might spring up, 
and react disastrously upon the undertaking. Do 
you see the point? 

Bartlet. May I put in just a word? I am 
sure that so long a list of signatures would have 
precisely the effect which Doctor Spring fears. 

Rice. I can see the reasonableness of this posi- 
tion, and I consent to have my name withdrawn. 
But I cannot withdraw from my purpose on that 
account. It is fixed. 

Spring. Quite right and proper, young man. 
Your name and that of Richards can be added later. 

Worcester. I earnestly hope they will. 

Spring crosses to a desk, takes up a quill pen and 
strikes off the names of Richards and Rice. As 
he is doing this a knock is heard at the door; enter 
the Bradford pastor, who announces that the meet- 
ing of the Association has already opened. 

Curtain. 

[33] 



During the close of scene, singing by chorus as of 
the congregation in audience-room of the meeting- 
house: 

Begin, my tongue, some heavenly theme, 
And speak some boundless thing; 

The mighty works, or mightier name 
Of our eternal King. 



SCENE II 

Time. Three hours later. 

Place. Living-room in house of Deacon John 
Hasseltine, Bradford, Massachusetts. Furniture, 
appointments, and costumes typical of period. Door 
at left; a window at rear of scene, also a door. 
Through door at left, open, there may be seen, be- 
yond a passageway, the dining-room, with long 
tables set. 

Enter Ann Hasseltine. She is about twenty-one, 
girlish, spirituelle, with large, dark eyes, dark curl- 
ing hair. Her expression is brilliant and changing. 
She zvears broad muslin ruffles at neck of flowered 
silk gown, which is high-waisted; sleeves puffed, 
skirt scant and short. (See portrait in Life by 
Knowles, published in 183 1.) On her feet, slippers 
with crossed ribbons. She carries roses in her hand, 
zvhich she arranges in a jar on center table, step- 

[34] 



ping back to look at them. Enter Harriet Atwood, 
a girl of seventeen, with innocent, childlike face and 
large, dark, pathetic eyes. 

Ann {hurrying to welcome her friend with a 
kiss). You good child, to get here so early ! What 
should we do without our little Harriet to help, for 
there may be even as many as twenty divines and 
Christian gentlemen to dine. 

Harriet {laying aside her bonnet and scarf). 
What will you give me to do first, Nancy ? Are the 
tables ready? 

Ann. Yes, the last touch is given them, and 
mother has slipped away to change her gown. Now 
come and nestle for a moment in our favorite 
nook. {She draws Harriet to a small settle, or 
large chair, in which they sit together.) 

Harriet. You are quite ready, I see, and look- 
ing most charming. Why, Nancy; your eyes are 
like stars! You look as if you had heard good 
news. 

Ann. What a penetrating soul you are! O 
Harriet, there is great news, and I am quite carried 
away! Father came over from the meeting-house 
an hour since and told me ; then returned to gather 
his guests together and bring them back to dinner. 
They will be here anon. 

Harriet. But what is it that has happened? 

[35] 



Ann. There has been a petition presented to the 
Association by several young gentlemen, divinity 
students from Andover, who desire to be sent out as 
soon as possible to Asia to preach to the inhabitants. 
Just fancy! No one has ever gone from this coun- 
try to the Orient for the sake of Christ and his 
gospel before. 

Harriet. But is it certain these men will go? 
Who will send them? 

Ann. Oh, that is coming out quite wonderfully. 
There is much, much more to the story. The 
Fathers have decided now, since several persons are 
eager to go, to form a Board for this very purpose 
of sending out missionaries to distant regions. The 
formation of the Board will be the order of the 
day to-morrow. And they have referred the An- 
dover students' petition to a committee of three. 

Harriet. I hope they are men favorable to 
such a wonderful project, but I suppose many, 
most perhaps, would think it quite wild and fanat- 
ical, and there it would end. 

Ann. Oh, yes; there are plenty, I am sure, of 
that way of thinking. But Doctor Spring, of New- 
buryport, and Doctor Worcester, of Salem, and Mr. 
Hale are men of vision, my Harriet, men whose 
hearts the love of God has touched with compas- 
sion for a lost world. They could not, could not 
frown upon so Christlike a purpose. 

[36] 



Harriet. Then it will come to pass, you believe ? 

Ann. I believe, and, believing, I cannot help 
singing with Mary: "My soul doth magnify the 
Lord, and my spirit doth rejoice in God my 
Saviour." 

Harriet. O Nancy, you are so good, so different 
from other girls, from all the rest of us! So dif- 
ferent — from yourself, as you were once. 

Ann. I was the wildest creature you ever knew, 
when we first met! Was I not? 

Harriet. Candidly, I think you were; that is, 
the gayest and the most completely bent on pleasure. 
You were restless and uneasy unless some gaiety 
was in the wind. No one could sing as blithe 
a song, or dance as long and never tire, or make 
merry as unceasingly as Nancy. And you cared 
more than any girl in those days for pretty frocks, 
and I think you rather have an eye for them still. 
Surely, the one you wear to-day becomes you vastly. 

Ann. Was I a very wicked worldling then, 
Harriet? 

Harriet. Not wicked, never that, but a world- 
ling I confess you were; the most engaging little 
worldling, though, ever seen. But now you almost 
frighten me, you have such high, serious thoughts. 
If you were a man, I believe you would be a hero 
like these petitioners you are telling me about. 

D [37] 



Ann. I do not think I am made of heroic stuff, 
Harriet; but I envy any one, man or woman, the 
exquisite hope of going forth on such an errand 
as theirs. 

Harriet. You envy them, Nancy dear? Think 
of the sacrifice, of leaving home and friends and 
all that makes this life sweet ! 

Ann. I think God gives great grace to those 
whom he calls to great suffering, don't you? And 
how is light ever to come into that darkness of 
heathenism unless the followers of Christ are will- 
ing to make sacrifices? 

Harriet. Nancy, you ought to be a clergyman 
yourself. You could preach. (Leaving the arm- 
chair and going toward the window.) But I am in 
such a state of excitement at your news that I can't 
keep still. I am thinking, what if one of those 
young crusaders should walk right into this room ! 

Ann (laughing). Some of them are likely to, 
any minute. They are in Bradford, and I suppose 
they have to have their dinner like any one else. 

Harriet. Hush ! Nancy, a young man has just 
turned in at the garden gate. 

Ann springs to her feet; both girls stand for a 
minute silent at attention. A step and a knock at the 
door are heard. Ann crosses the room and opens 
the door. Enter Adoniram Judson. 

[38] 



Judson (removing his hat and bowing cere- 
moniously). Is this the home, if you please, of 
Deacon John Hasseltine? 

Ann. It is, and I am John Hasseltine's daugh- 
ter. Will you come in? (Judson enters.) I hope 
you are one of our expected dinner guests. 

Judson. You are very kind to say so, Miss 
Hasseltine. I walked over from Andover this 
morning — ten miles you know — and it is a cheer- 
ing prospect, that of being your guest for dinner. 
My name, if you please, is Judson. 

Ann (presenting him to Harriet). Miss At- 
wood, this is Mr. Judson, from Andover. (They 
shake hands.) 

Judson. Miss Hasseltine, your father asked my 
friend Rice and myself to come over here in ad- 
vance, and say that in ten minutes at most he will 
be here with fifteen friends. 

Ann. Very good. We hoped for twenty. 

Judson. The hospitality of your house is re- 
nowned, and I consider myself a very fortunate 
man to share it to-day. I lost Rice somewhere on 
the way. Ah, there he is now ! 

He steps to the window. Ann opens door. Rice 
enters, and is presented to Ann and Harriet. 
They all stand an instant facing each other silently. 

Ann (simply, directly, even solemnly). Are you 

[39] 



two of the number of Andover men who have asked 
to be sent out to the heathen? 

Rice and Judson each place a hand on the other's 
shoulder with a spontaneous, brotherly motion. 

Judson. This man is the president of our mis- 
sionary society in Andover. 

Rice. And this man is its inspiration. 

Curtain. 

SCENE III 

The same. r An hour later. 

Through the open door at left come sounds from 
the dining-room of voices, silver, china, etc., in- 
dicating that dinner is under way. On a sofa, half 
reclining, Harriet Atwood, flushed and tired. 
Enter Ann Hasseltine from door at left; she 
wears a muslin apron over her gown, and is breath- 
less and excited. 

Ann. The poor, little Harriet is quite tired out 
I fear. Indeed, we have had no end of running 
to and fro. And those tureens were too heavy for 
these delicate little wrists to carry. (Affectionately 
clasping a wrist of Harriet's in each hand.) 

Harriet. I am not at all too tired, Nancy; and 
I loved serving such a goodly company. What 
noble, distinguished men they are! 

Ann (abstractedly) . Yes, quite so. 

[40] 



Harriet. But, Nancy, though he has not weight 
and dignity of years like the Fathers, no man in that 
room (pointing to the open door at left) has to me 
so high a spiritual light on his face as Mr. Judson. 

Ann looks at her, meditatively, in silence, puts 
her head on one side with an air of whimsical ques- 
tioning, then walks on tiptoe to the door at left, and 
closes it softly. 

Ann. I am glad you have so favorable an im- 
pression. For my own part, I was never so dis- 
appointed. 

Harriet. Nancy ! What can you mean ? Why, 
Mr. Rice has been telling me of his friend in most 
exalting strain. It seems that Mr. Judson really 
himself framed that petition, that he is the moving 
force in all this Andover agitation. Mr. Newell 
and Mr. Nott simply follow his leading, in a way. 
He has a sweeping, impetuous spirit, so fervent that 
it may not be withstood. Why, Ann Hasseltine 

Ann (laughing). Well, well, little Harriet, Mr. 
Judson could have no more ardent champion than 
you. But it is just because of hearing things like 
this from one and another, spoken to be sure, aside 
and discreetly, that I expected all through the din- 
ner to hear this young Mr. Judson discourse in some 
marvelous manner. At least, I thought to see him 
show an alert attention to the discussion of his own 
darling project. 

[41] 



Harriet. And did he not? I was too busy at 
the other end of the table to note particularly what 
went forward down at your end. 

Ann. Indeed no, Harriet. The man, in the 
first place, ate almost nothing, in spite of his long 
walk from Andover. 

Harriet. In itself, an offense to a hostess ! 

Ann. You are a mischievous child. Not that, 
but he sat there, silent throughout, his eyes fixed 
upon his plate or upon the goldfinch's cage, and 
scarcely did he speak once. 

Harriet. I stole a glance at him myself once 
or twice. 

Ann. Very well. And at those times was he 
conversing ? 

Harriet. No, love ; he was not. He was gazing 
steadfastly at you. Furthermore, Mr. Rice told 
me that while the others were gathering to come 
to the table, Mr. Judson was much occupied in 
quoting lines to him by an English poet named 
Wordsworth, I think; anyway, the verses are quite 
new and very pretty. Something like this they run : 

" She was a phantom of delight 

When first she gleamed upon my sight, 
A lovely apparition, sent — 

To haunt, to startle, and waylay." 

[42] 



There, you see, I cannot quote it. I remember only 
a line here and there. 

Ann. You do well to rehearse so much of what 
you have heard only at second-hand, or even third. 
I should say it might be very nice poetry. 

Harriet (springing to her feet, laughing). Very 
nice! O Nancy, how hard you try to appear un- 
conscious! Enough of this nonsense anyway! I 
am going back to help Mamma Hasseltine. 

Ann has turned azi'ay, and crossed to window. 
As Harriet leaves by door at left, Judson enters, 
bozvs her out, closes door, and comes forward. 

Judson. Pardon my abruptness, Miss Hassel- 
tine. You are informed regarding the purpose of 
my friends and myself to sail for some Asiatic 
country on a religious mission as soon as the church 
Fathers are ready to authorize us? 

Ann. Yes, I have been told something con- 
cerning it. 

Judson. Are you of those who regard such an 
enterprise as the romantic dream of youthful imag- 
ination ; or, worse, the wild fanaticism of ill-balanced 
brains? 

Ann. I had thought of it as the call of God. 

Judson. God bless you for the thought. It has 
not been easy, believe me, to battle with the con- 
tempt of the worldly, the prejudice of the church 

[43] 



at large, of the ministry even, and the weakness and 
cowardice of my own heart. 

Ann. But you have won the battle. 

Judson. Never could I have won it alone. God 
has been working mightily on the hearts of men, 
widely scattered, and his providence has been 
strangely manifested in inspiring us with a passion 
for missions first, and then in bringing us all to- 
gether, so to strengthen each man's purpose. 

Ann. I so wish I could know how this action of 
to-day ever came to be taken. 

Judson. Sometime it may be my privilege to 
tell you all the way the hand of God has led us. 
Not now. But, you see, when we all met at the 
same seminary, and came to a mutual understand- 
ing on the ground of foreign missions and missions 
for life, the subject assumed in our minds such an 
overwhelming importance and awful solemnity as 
bound us to one another and to our purpose more 
firmly than ever. 

Ann. The tie that binds you together must be 
a blessed one and strong. But have you no fear, 
no misgiving as you look forward? Your work 
may call you to wide separation. 

Judson. Isolation, hardships, sufferings, dangers, 
persecutions, a violent death perhaps, are plainly 
to be seen in such a future. Nevertheless, to me 
the prospects are bright and animating. I wait 

[44] 



with impatience the day when at last a ship shall 
sail from Massachusetts waters, bound for the 
Orient with a man on board named Judson, with 
the goal of his desires in sight. 

Ann. Why did you not speak out like this at 
the table, Mr. Judson, among the learned doctors 
and delegates? You will forgive my boldness, but 
I am sure all expected some such expressions as 
these from your lips. 

Judson (hesitates, starts to speak, stops, then 
laughingly proceeds). Please try to realize that I 
am not mere missionary, but also a man. You have 
asked a question which you — not I — call a " bold " 
one. I shall answer it then with boldness. I believe 
I was abstracted and silent at the table, and I have 
not even the excuse that I was absorbed in thoughts 
of my mission. 

As he speaks the door at left is opened. Enter 
Doctor Worcester, Doctor Spring, Mr. Bartlet, 
Rice, and other guests, conversing as they come. 
Judson proceeds in a lower voice, hurriedly: 

Miss Hasseltine, I was thinking of only one sub- 
ject — yourself; and I was so foolish as to forget 
everything around me in struggling to compose some 
verses in your praise, not too unworthy of one who 
has to-day dawned upon me with something of 
an angel light. 

Curtain. 

[45] 



)% $J*&%x& G^rtet'ss £p*n ^ 



SCENE IV 

Time. Thursday, February 6, 1812. 
Place. Steps of Tabernacle Congregational Meet- 
ing-house, Salem, Massachusetts. 
Chorus within sings: 

Ye Christian heralds go, proclaim 
Salvation in ImmanueTs name; 
To distant lands the tidings bear, 
And plant the rose of Sharon there. 

As the singing ceases, the church bell begins to 
toll for close of service, and the congregation, in 
winter costumes of period, pours out of the church 
door and disperses right and left. Many show 
marked emotion, and a sense of solemnity is mani- 
fest throughout the company. Among the last of 
the congregation appear three matrons, zuho pause 
near center at the front of stage, and comment upon 
the service of ordination just concluded. 

Mrs. White. Never in the township of Salem 
was such a day known as this, nor such a solemn 
service. {She wipes tears from her eyes.) 

Mrs. Brown. Our children will tell it to their 
children, and the story of it will go down through 
all the generations, of these lads, scarce more than 

[46] 



children, as you might say, who dare to take their 
lives in their hands and go out among the heathen. 
Poor souls! Never may we look upon their faces 
again ! 

Mrs. White. But I can't but think of their 
mothers. Ah me! Did you hear that strange, irre- 
pressible sighing and weeping which passed through 
the church once and again ? 

Mrs. Green. To me it was more like the sound 
of the trees in a forest when a great wind passes 
over them. 

Mrs. Brown. But did you see Nancy Hassel- 
tine — Mrs. Judson, I should say — there in the 
midst? !A! bride but of yesterday, and now set 
apart to cross the cruel seas and live among wild 
beasts and wilder folk ! Never did I know a sweeter 
maid than she. (She dries her eyes.) 

Mrs. Green. I was watchin' her when hands 
were laid on her young husband's head, and her 
face was as the face of an angel. 

Mrs. White. And that dear child with her — 
Harriet Atwood! Did you note her? To me she 
has the look in her eyes of those who die young. 
She is but nineteen, and to be married to that young 
Mr. Newell in a few days and sail with the rest. 

Mrs. Day joins the group, also Miss Fairly. 

Mrs. Day. What makes these young ladies go 
out to India? I never heard of a woman doing such 

[47] 



►5< £jj£SMUSi Ql$tzl&t*& (Efeu * 

a thing before. Why don't they stay at home like 
other girls? 

Mrs. Brown. Why, they think it their duty to 
go and help carry the gospel to the heathen. 
Wouldn't you go if you thought it was your duty ? 

Mrs. Day. I would take care not to think it was 
my duty. I thank God for my birth in a Christian 
land, and in a Christian land I propose to stay. 

On the church steps now appear Mrs. Judson 
(Ann Hasseltine) and Harriet Atwood. They 
stand quietly together, hand in hand. 

Mrs. White. Just see them there, holding hands 
to comfort each other, poor lambs! 

Miss Fairly. I don't believe we need pity them. 
They seem to me very happy. Just now, when I 
got through with playing the organ and was coming 
down the gallery stairs, I met them at the foot of 
it, and their faces were just shining. I know Nancy 
Hasseltine almost as well as my own sister. She 
boarded with us when she taught school here in 
Salem. She has the courage of a lion with the heart 
of a dove. She has promised to write to me when 
she gets out to India. 

Mrs. Green. Well, now, won't it be interestin' 
to read her letters? I hope you'll give the rest of 
us a chance to hear them read. I must hurry home 
now. Good night. 

[48] 



All go out but Mrs. Judson and Harriet, who 
stand on the step. Enter from church door Doctor 
Bolles, pastor of First Baptist Church in Salem. 
He is hastening away; but, seeing the young women, 
stops and addresses Mrs. Judson. 

Bolles. Pardon the liberty, but is this the wife 
of Adoniram Judson? 

Mrs. Judson. Yes, I have been such since yes- 
terday. 

Bolles. Then may I be so bold as to offer you 
my most profound congratulations and good wishes? 
(Offers his hand with cordiality, which is re- 
turned by Mrs. Judson.) I am Pastor Bolles of 
the First Baptist Church here in town. But if the 
candidates just ordained had been my own sons, I 
could not have rejoiced more sincerely than I do 
in this day's event. A great epoch is achieved in 
Christian history. I thank God I have lived to 
hear the good confession witnessed by your husband 
and his young comrades-at-arms. 

Mrs. Judson. Your sympathy cheers and warms 
my heart. I thank you. 

Bolles. A few days since, Mrs. Judson, I had 
the pleasure of a brief conversation with your hus- 
band. At that time he said to me : " I hope that 
before long the Baptist denomination in America 
will follow the shining example of their brethren in 

[49] 



Great Britain, and send out their own foreign mis- 
sionaries to reenforce the work of Carey." Will 
you tell him from me that those words sank deeply 
in my heart and, please God, shall bring forth fruit 
ere long. 

Mrs. Judson. You should give my husband this 
hopeful word yourself, Doctor Bolles. 

Bolles. I do not venture to press myself on his 
attention just now at this solemn and sacred mo- 
ment, and it may not be my privilege to see him 
again before you set sail. So take the message 
for me, and fare you well. 

He clasps the hand of Mrs. Judson and then 
that of Harriet. Goes out. Enter from church 
door, two by two, six clergymen in black gowns and 
Geneva bands — Doctor Spring, Doctor Morse, 
Doctor Griffin, Doctor Woods, Doctor Worces- 
ter, pastor of the church, and Doctor Stuart. 
Follozving them enter Gordon Hall, Samuel Nott, 
Samuel Newell, !Ax>oniram Judson, and Luther 
Rice. The ages of the candidates: Hall and 
Newell, 29; Rice, 50; Judson and Nott, 25. 
Mrs. Judson and Harriet draw back in some con- 
fusion. 

Worcester {putting out his hand with a gesture 
of kindly invitation). Please remain a moment, 
young ladies, and let us give you our congratula- 
tions. {He gives a hand to each.) 

[50] 



Griffin - . Yes, and our benediction. 

Worcester (presenting the two girls to the 
Fathers). This, brethren, is Mrs. Adoniram Jud- 
son, who was married in Bradford yesterday ; she is 
a daughter of our good friend, Deacon John Hassel- 
tine. 

As Worcester speaks, Judson moves to the side 
of his wife, and draws her hand within his arm. 
Samuel Newell follows, standing in like manner 
with Harriet At wood. The Fathers, in an irregu- 
lar semicircle confronting the two youthful couples, 
gaze upon them with looks of solemn tenderness 
and sympathy. Behind the Judsons, Newell, and 
Harriet, the other young men just ordained — Rice, 
Hall, and Nott — range themselves slightly in the 
background. 

Worcester. And this young lady, Miss Atwood, 
who stands so modestly beside our Brother Newell, 
is soon to be his bride. I say to you with a full 
heart, dear daughters, God bless you and uphold 
you in your chosen mission. 

The Fathers. Amen. 

Spring. You, in the bloom of your youth, are 
about to do what no American woman has ever 
done before, but which I prophesy many in time 
to come will do, moved by your example. No 
enterprise comparable to this has been embraced by 

[51] 



the American church. All others retire before it, 
like the stars before the sun. You have been sepa- 
rated for this work whereunto you have been called. 
We, with hands of benediction laid upon your heads, 
with fasting, and with prayer, send you forth. The 
ship on which you are to sail is at this moment 
rocking at its moorings in Salem harbor, ready to 
sail with a favoring wind. The hopes and prayers 
of many years on the part of these young soldiers of 
the Cross seem now to be fulfilled. 

Woods. I had not heard that passage was al- 
ready engaged. What is the ship? 

Stuart. The brigantine " Caravan," Captain 
Heard, bound for Calcutta. 

Woods. And are all these young friends to sail 
on the selfsame ship? 

Rice. No, sir. Gordon Hall, Samuel Nott, and 
I leave to-night for Philadelphia. We have engaged 
passage on the " Harmony," bound also for Calcutta, 
from that port. 

Hall. We hope to arrive in India not far from 
the same time, and not far from five months hence. 

Morse. May I ask if the deputation assigned to 
the " Harmony " is equally favored with those of 
the " Caravan." (With a gesture he indicates the 
young women.) 

Hall. I go alone, Doctor Morse. 

[52] 



JJ^si^Si Q^rxst *3S £Eh£n 



X:rr. I: is ~:y r.zzt ::■ :e ::;a:::ei ::: Saturday. 
the eighth. 

Mossz. And you, Mr. Rice, whom we have all 
welcomed with peculiar pleasure to this baud, know- 
ing what obstacles you La e : ercome, unaided, how 
about you in this respec: : 

~::z I have no such hope, sir. That page in 
my history has been turned I have run a somewhat 
solitary course thus far, and solitary I feel it is to 
remain to the end. 

Spring. We will ccur.: you : e:: a species :: 
Free Lance, Mr. Rice, among this band of young 
Knights-Crusaders. And you may fight a no less 
gallant fight than they. Brethren, the hour is late. 
(Stretching out his hands as if in benediction to the 
young missionaries. ) God be with you till we meet 
again. 

The Fathers, with parting salutations to the young 
men and women, depart in stately order, too by :: 
from scene. Twilight is falling. Rice, Nott, and 
Hall follow at a little distance. Mr. and Mrsl 
Tvisix, NivriLL j-;i Ha3^:it ::■■:-: f:*-z:z-d. r.z-.d 
in hand, standing in above order, left to right. It 
is dark. In the background stands Spirit am Love 
with outstretched arms, as if in blessing. 

JUDSOX. 

God the Father give us gra : e 

To walk in the light of Tesus' face. 



:55: 



Mrs. Judson. 

God the Son give us a part 

In the hiding-place of Jesus' heart. 

Newell. 

God the Spirit so hold us up 
That we may drink of Jesus' cup. 

Harriet. 

Death is short, and life is long; 
Satan is strong, but Christ more strong. 
Curtain. 

Chorus and audience rise and sing: 

The Son of God goes forth to war, 

A kingly crown to gain; 
His blood-red banner streams afar, 

Who follows in his train? 
Who best can drink his cup of woe, 

Triumphant over pain; 
Who patient bears his cross below, 

He follows in his train. 

The martyr first, whose eagle eye 

Could pierce beyond the grave, 
Who saw his Master in the sky, 

And called on him to save: 
Like him with pardon on his tongue, 

In midst of mortal pain, 
He prayed for them that did the wrong : 

Who follows in his train? 

[54] 



A noble army, men and boys, 

The matron and the maid, 
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice, 

In robes of light arrayed: 
They climbed the steep ascent of heaven 

Through peril, toil, and pain : 
O God, to us may grace be given 

To follow in their train! 



SCENE V 

Time. Dusk of a September evening, 1813. 

Scene. As in previous scene. Meeting-house 
door is closed. Within the church a woman's voice 
is heard singing softly: 

A poor wayfaring man of grief 

Hath often crossed me on my way, 
And sued so humbly for relief 

That I could never answer, Nay. 
I'd not the power to ask his name, 
Whither he went or whence he came; 
But there was something in his eye 
Which won my love, I knew not why. 

Enter Luther Rice, in broad-brimmed hat and 
long traveling cloak, staff in hand. He walks 
slowly, with bent head, up to the church steps and 

[55] 



listens to the voice singing. During his monologue 
low organ music is heard from within the church. 
Rice. " A poor wayfaring man of grief ! " Yes, 
the old song has a new and poignant note to-night. 
It lacks little now of two years since I stood on this 
spot before. The door was open then. To-night 
it is closed. That day I stood with the precious 
company of my brothers and companions. To- 
night I stand alone. Then, the Fathers gathered 
on this threshold bent looks f>£ affection and sym- 
pathy upon me, and lifted h^nds of benediction 
above my head. Now they turn away from me; 
they ask nothing at my hands — no tidings from the 
field, no recital of the tribulations through which 
our little band has passed since we parted here on 
the night of our ordination. The places which 
knew me shall know me no more; even this sacred 
house where I met my God in the most solemn 
hour of my life is my sanctuary no longer. The 
world seems cold and gray, for in India I have left 
our little, hapless band divided, dispersed, and dis- 
tressed: Hall and Nott are in Bombay; Newell, a 
broken-hearted man, is a wanderer alone in Ceylon ; 
Judson, my soul's brother, is tossed on troubled 
Indian seas, hoping by some means at last to reach 
Burma, his desired haven. I have been in perils 
by the heathen, in perils in the wilderness, in perils 
on the sea; I have been brought to the verge of 

[56] 



the grave, and what is more bitter than the bitter- 
ness of death, I have found myself called to sever 
the dearest ties of life — those binding me to my 
Christian friends on this side the Atlantic. 

Thus I stand here again to-night, buffeted by 
many blasts, alone, a poor wayfaring man of grief, 
before a closed door, knowing not what awaits me. 

What then? Have done with this despondent 
strain! Life awaits me, new Christian fellowship 
awaits me; the call of God to labor for the lost is 
upon me; and somewhere, I know not where, in 
India, the beloved Judson, with an angel by his 
side, awaits the issue of my errand here. 

Organ music ceases. Enter from church Miss 
Fairly, the organist, a large key and portfolio in 
her hand. She sees Rice. 

Miss Fairly. Oh! 

Rice {startled). Pardon me. I might have 
guessed some one was within the church. It is 
Miss Fairly, the organist of old in this place, if I 
am not mistaken. 

Miss Fairly. Yes, you are right. But I do not 
recognize you. And yet your face is familiar, and 
yet more familiar your voice. 

Rice. You conducted the music, I think, nearly 
two years ago, when Gordon Hall, Judson, and 
others were ordained and set apart for service in 
India. It was in February, 1812. 

[57] 



Miss Fairly (holding out her hand with 
warmth). It is Luther Rice, but I supposed you 
were in India. I remember you perfectly, and the 
good confession you made that day. 

Rice (taking her hand, but with diffidence). 
Your cordiality warms my soul, but I must not ac- 
cept it under false appearance. I arrived in New 
York a short time ago. Do you know why I have 
returned from India? 

Miss Fairly. No, I know nothing whatever, and 
I can hardly believe the witness of my eyes that 
it is you. Have you been ill? You look white and 
worn. 

Rice. Yes, I have been very ill. It is not prob- 
able that I can ever live in the climate of India. 
Still, that is not the main reason for my return. 

Miss Fairly. Mr. Rice, you are, I know, the 
bosom friend of Ann Hasseltine's husband. 

Rice. You know Mrs. Judson then? 

Miss Fairly. Know and love her with all my 
heart. 

Rice. God never put a nobler soul into human 
clay more exquisite. 

Miss Fairly. I have recently had a letter from 
her, whom you so well describe. Is it possible that 
in that letter, which I have here in my hand, may be 
found the key to your presence here ? 

She opens the portfolio and brings out a letter. 

[58] 



Rice. Nothing could more vitally interest me 
than any intelligence from those so dear, from 
whom I parted in the Isle of France with sorrow 
unspeakable last March. 

Miss Fairly. This letter bears date of a year 
ago, but I have only lately received it. Let me 
read a line here and there. (Reads.) 

" Can you still love me, still desire to hear from 
me, my dear, when I tell you I have become a Bap- 
tist ? " Then she describes the way in which Mr. 
Judson began to study into the subject of baptism 
while they were at sea on the " Caravan," and how 
she, Ann, always declared that even if he should 
end by becoming a Baptist, never would she. But 
she proceeds: 

" We were finally compelled from a considera- 
tion of truth to embrace these principles. Thus, my 
dear friend, we are confirmed Baptists, not be- 
cause we wished to be, but because truth com- 
pelled us to be. We have endeavored to count the 
cost and be prepared for the many severe trials 
resulting from this change of sentiment. We an- 
ticipate the loss of reputation and of the affection 
and esteem of our American friends. These things 
have caused us to weep and pour out our hearts in 
prayer to Him, whose direction we so much wish 
and need. We feel that we are alone in the world, 
with no real friend but each other, no one on whom 

[59] 



we can depend but God. The renunciation of our 
former sentiments has caused us more pain than 
anything which ever happened to us in our lives." 

My poor Nancy ! Is not the letter heartrending ? 
But have you known perhaps a like experience ? 

Rice. Yes, I can say Amen to every word. I 
have had the same exercise of mind with these 
dear souls, and was baptized with the same baptism 
in the city of Calcutta last November. Now that 
you know of my apostasy, or my conversion, which- 
ever you may call it — can you still give me a cordial 
hand-grasp, Miss Fairly? 

Miss Fairly (holding out her hand). With all 
my heart. I regard you more highly, rather than 
less so. No matter whether you are mistaken, you 
are true to your conviction, and at great cost. 

Rice. I thank you. Such an expression bright- 
ens all the world to me to-night. It is what I 
needed. But Miss Fairly, I am not thinking alone 
of myself as I stand here. I am haunted by a 
vision of her, the youngest and gentlest of our little 
company that day, the first American martyr to the 
cause of missions. 

Miss Fairly. Little Harriet Newell ? Word has 
reached us of her untimely death, but I have heard 
nothing beyond the fact. 

Rice. When Mr. and Mrs. Judson arrived in 
the port of St. Louis on the Isle of France, in the 

[60] 



Indian Ocean, I stood beside them on the deck of 
the " Creole." We watched the scene of fairy like 
beauty and tropical verdure together, but I under- 
stood well by the mantling cheek and kindling eye 
of Mrs. Judson that her one, sole thought was, 
'* At last I am to be reunited to my precious Har- 
riet ! " For we had had five months of indescribable 
hardship and peril since the Xewells parted from 
us in Calcutta and preceded us to this island, and 
Mrs. Judson had sorely missed this dear companion 
of her girlhood. When the " Creole n came to her 
moorings, our friend Xewell instantly boarded her. 
He was alone, and the pallor and anguish stamped 
upon his face told of tragic grief. In broken words, 
with rending sobs, he told them that Harriet was 
no more. Mrs. Judson's woe was piteous to wit- 
ness, and I feared to see her fall unconscious. 

Miss Fairly. What a terrible blow! How in- 
expressibly mournful for them all! Can you tell 
me more ? 

Rice. A little child had been born at sea; born 
but to die and find its grave in the depths. The 
young mother never recovered her vital forces, and 
sank quickly after the arrival at Port Louis. In 
view of death these two lonely, undaunted souls 
partook together of the communion of the Lord's 
death, and alone beside her Xewell watched her 
spirit depart. He laid her away, " the wife of his 

[61] 



youth and the desire of his eyes, his own dear 
Harriet," as he pathetically described her, in the 
heathy ground of that far island. 

Miss Fairly (weeping). I never heard a sadder 
tale. 

Rice. "For the love of Christ," one has said, 
" and immortal souls, she left the bosom of her 
friends and found an early grave in the land of 
strangers." Yes, sad and tragic to our human sight, 
but for herself death was a glorious entrance into 
a better world. She welcomed death fearlessly, 
Miss Fairly, that frail girl of nineteen, as her 
good angel, her best friend. You are going — for- 
give me that I have kept you so long. I grow 
garrulous when I find — so new an experience — a 
sympathetic listener. 

Miss Fairly (overcome with emotion). Good 
night. Thank you. I shall see you again — hear 
more — hear all you can tell me of my beloved 
Nancy. (Goes out.) 

Rice stands alone zvith bowed head, arms crossed 
upon his breast. 

Chorus sings softly: 

For all the saints who from their labors rest, 
Who Thee by faith before the world confessed, 
Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest. 

Alleluliaf 

[62] 



Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress, and their 

Might; 
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight ; 
Thou in the darknes.s drear their only Light. 

Allelulia! 

Rice steps down from church door and starts to 
cross stage; is met by Doctor Bolles, who has 
entered at the left, and is hurrying along with the 
air of an urgent errand. 

Bolles {clasping his hands with warmth). 
What! Luther Rice himself! This is most oppor- 
tune. I came home from Boston an hour ago, and 
have been trying to learn your whereabouts. Some 
one had seen you wandering alone down by the 
harbor, but there I lost your trail. I was not even 
sure that you were in Salem still. 

Rice. Glad am I to be found of you. 

Bolles. I have spent the day with wise and 
discreet brethren in Boston, conferring as to the 
best course to pursue in view of this marvelous 
Providence which has cut yourself and the Jud- 
sons loose from all the ties which bound you to the 
American Board. Judson has written to us Baptists 
here in America : " Should there be formed a Bap- 
tist society for support of a mission in these parts, 
I shall be ready to consider myself their missionary." 
The answer has gone back to him : " Your letter 

[6 3 ] 



caused peculiar emotions; we consider it the voice 
of God." 

Rice. Thanks be to his name! 

Bolles. The Baptists of Massachusetts, and we 
doubt not of the whole country, are on fire with 
sacred joy at the glory and the responsibility so un- 
expectedly thrust upon them. They are ready to 
rise to it. The Judsons will be supported, rest as- 
sured, as our missionaries. And for you, you are 
our missionary also. But we cannot send you back 
at present to India. Your presence here among us 
at this crisis is of vital importance. Your work 
lies before you — that of missionary and agent tq 
travel in these United States, with a view to excite 
the public mind more generally to engage in mis- 
sionary exertions. 

Rice. A great and arduous work. 

Bolles. Yes, but one for which we are con- 
vinced your natural abilities peculiarly qualify you. 
Furthermore, let me say that in view of the unor- 
ganized condition of our Baptist forces, so recently 
set free from severe civic disabilities, so long sup- 
pressed by the older establishment, the work of a 
missionary on this side is not one whit less valuable, 
less necessary than the work upon which your 
heart has been set with Judson in India. Now, 
when the time comes, as come it will, and that 

[6 4 ] 



soon, that a definite request is laid before you to 
enter upon this duty, what will be your answer? 

Rice. Yes, unqualifiedly. In India, it is proved, 
my life would in brief time be cut off, but I can 
work for India no less loyally on this side the ocean. 
To such labor I should dedicate myself, with every 
faculty and force of which I am possessed. 

Curtain. 

Chorus. (Audience rise and join in hymn.) 

God moves in a mysterious way 

His wonders to perform; 
He plants his footsteps in the sea, 

And rides upon the storm. 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
But trust him for his grace ; 

Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour; 
The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the flower. 



[65] 



►p fjjz&tx& (Jtyvi&t** (jQim ►£< 



SCENE VI 

Time. June, 1824. 

Place. Ava, capital of Burma. Scene by the 
riverside — palms and tropical plants. A huge 
pagoda in background. A procession is seen of 
yellow-robed Buddhist monks following a painted 
car. They file through, and go out. At right front 
of stage, adjoining house of Judson, a bamboo 
veranda, in which are seated on the floor ten or 
fifteen Burmese women, girls, and children. One 
woman carries a half-naked, sick baby. Among 
them stands Mrs. Judson in Burmese 7 costume. 
They repeat words of Scripture in Burmese 
{Twenty-third Psalm) after her. A bell sounds 
within house. All rise. Enter from house Judson 
in Burmese costume, MS. of Burmese New Testa- 
ment in hand. Moung Ing, a convert, follows him 

7 " Mrs. Judson had long previous to this adopted the Burmese 
style of dress. Her rich Spanish complexion could never be mis- 
taken for the tawny hue of the native; and her figure, of full 
medium height, appeared much taller and more commanding in a 
costume usually worn by women of inferior size. But her friend, 
the governor's wife, who presented her with the dress, had recom- 
mended the measure as a concession which would be sure to con- 
ciliate the people and win them to a kindlier treatment of her. 
Behold her then, her dark curls carefully straightened, drawn back 
from her forehead, and a fragrant cocoa blossom, drooping like a 
white plume from the knot upon the crown; her saffron vest thrown 
open to display the folds of crimson beneath, and a rich silken 
skirt, wrapped closely about her fine figure, parting at the ankle 
and sloping back upon the floor." 

[66] 



zvith hymnal, then a number (six to ten) of Bur- 
mese men. 

Chorus of converts, men and women, standing 
together, led by Moung Ing, join in singing hymn 
of Krishnu Pal, first Hindu baptised by Doctor 
Carey, 1800. 

O thou my soul, forget no more 
The Friend who all thy sorrows bore. 
Let every idol be forgot : 
But, O my soul, forget him not. 

Renounce thy works and ways with grief, 
'And fly to this divine relief ; 
Nor him forget, who left his throne, 
And for thy life gave up his own. 

Mrs. Judson's appearance is radiant and queenly. 
All rise, and the company breaks up with profound 
salaams to (l the Teacher" and the "white Mama" 
Mrs. Judson detains the woman with the sick baby 
in her arms, and shows her peculiar tenderness. 'All 
but Mr. and Mrs. Judson go out. 

Judson (looking at his wife with solicitude). 
Four months, my Nancy, since your return from 
your American journey, and already the climate 
produces its effects upon you. That day when I 
welcomed you back to Rangoon after our fourteen 
months' separation, I saw once more Ann Hassel- 
tine, the blooming, spirited girl whom I snatched 

[67] 



from her father's house and bore away to these 
strange shores. All the weariness and suffering of 
ten years in India seemed effaced. How can I bear 
to see their imprint appear anew upon the face 
dearest on earth? 

Mrs. Judson. Shall I remind you, love, of the 
apostolic word : " For though our outward man 
perish, yet is the inward man renewed day by day " ? 
I am perfectly well; it is you who suffer. But, in 
spite of hollow cheek and fading eye, I feel that in 
us both exists an inward strength, which shall not 
fail until all is accomplished. 

Judson. " Until all is accomplished " ? What 
does that phrase signify? It has a sound which 
troubles me, Nancy. What do you fear? 

Mrs. Judson. I do not fear. And yet the sky 
around us seems to me growing ever darker. I 
feel a sinister, ominous influence at work against us. 

Judson. You mean by reason of the rumors of 
war between Burma and the English? Because of 
the suspicion lately thrown upon English-speaking 
residents of Rangoon and Ava? 

Mrs. Judson. Yes, there is an undeniable change 
toward us of late on the part of the queen. I am 
convinced that we personally are under disfavor 
and suspicion. 

Judson. You are right, Nancy. I will no longer 
seek to hide from you the fact that Doctor Price 

[68] 



and I were a few days since summoned before 
the Court of Inquiry, to prove whether or not we 
have held communication with foreigners as to the 
state of the country. 

Mrs. Judson (clasping her hands and showing 
alarm). But you were able to make everything per- 
fectly clear? You certainly are innocent in this 
particular. 

Judson. Entirely so. The difficulty is to make 
our innocence plain to judges who are utterly unac- 
quainted with our methods. 

Mrs. Judson. Oh, what do you mean? What 
methods ? 

Judson. We were released without condition or 
threat and, as you see, are perfectly at liberty. 
Nevertheless it seemed to me there was an unbroken 
reserve, a certain stubborn dissatisfaction in the 
matter of our money-orders on the English Bengal 
banks. The Burmese, you see, know nothing of this 
method of transmitting money, and it seemed im- 
possible to make it clear to them. 

Mrs. Judson (quietly). I see, there may be a 
difficulty there, and if a war is really on, there 
would probably be an interruption to the work of 
building up a church here in Ava, as you did so 
successfully in Rangoon. 

Judson (reluctantly). Yes, I almost fear our 
coming to Ava was mistaken. 

F [69] 



Mrs. Judson. Nothing is a mistake when our 
hearts and purposes are sincere and free from self- 
ish taint. Whatever happens, my love, you have 
by God's help planted the church of Christ in this 
stronghold of heathenism; you have accomplished 
the translation of the New Testament into Burmese, 
and your epitome of the Old Testament is finished. 
I believe this is but the beginning of what you are 
to do; but were it all, could we not, my husband, 
thank God, and feel in the very depths of our 
souls that we had not left home and native land in 
vain? 

Judson (taking her hands and clasping them to 
his breast). You perfect woman, saint, angel, sent 
from heaven to uphold me ! With you by my side, 
I shall not faint or grow weary. But, Nancy, I feel 
with you that the clouds darkly gather. (He puts 
the New Testament, from which he has read in the 
service, into her hands.) I entrust this, the sum 
of ten years of unceasing toil, to your keeping. We 
know not on what perilous margin we may be 
standing. 

Mrs. Judson takes the MS. and hides it in the 
bosom of her dress. 

They repeat together with hands clasped: 

Be it flood or blood the path that's trod, 
All the same it leads home to God. 

[70] 



There is an instant of silence, suddenly broken 
by harsh , discordant sounds of drums and tom-toms 
and shouts. Enter an Officer holding a large black 
book. He is accompanied by ten or more attendants, 
among these the "Son of the Prison," the jailer* 
with face spotted by branding-iron. This man is 
identical with the Spirit of Evil ; he is the essence 
of heathenism. In place of crown he wears a yel-l 
low turban and a narrow black tunic, reaching only 
to knees. The Judsons view him with abhorrence 
and terror. 

Officer. Where is the Teacher? 

Judson {stepping forward). I am the Teacher. 

Officer. You are called by the king. 



8 " The keepers of the prison were all branded criminals; some 
wearing the name of their crime burned into the flesh of their 
foreheads or breasts; others with a dark ring upon the cheek, or 
about the eye; and others still with mutilated noses, blind of an 
eye, or with their ears quite cut away. They are called ' Children of 
the Prison,' and form a distinct class, quite out of the way of 
reputable people, intermarrying only among themselves, and so per- 
petuating vice, while they are shut, both by their sentence and the 
horror with which they are regarded by all classes, without the pale 
of virtue. The cruelty or other vicious inclination which led to the 
perpetration of the first crime is now deepened and rendered in- 
delible by constant familiarity with every species of human torture, 
until these creatures seem really to be actuated by some demoniac 
spirit. The head jailer, called by the prisoners the ' Tiger Cat,' and 
branded in the breast loo-that, or murderer, was one of the most 
hideous and disgusting of his fraternity. He affected great jocu- 
larity, and was facetious, even in the commission of his worst 
cruelties, bringing down his hammer with a jest when fastening 
manacles, putting his hated arms affectionately around the prisoners, 
and calling them his beloved children, to get a better opportunity to 
prick or pinch them, and withal studying torture as the most comical 
of arts." — Doctor Judson. 

[71] 



Jailer seises Judson, throws him on the floor, 
and proceeds to bind his arms behind him with a 
fine strong cord. Mrs. Judson seises his arm. 
Enter Moung Ing, the Bengalee servant, and others. 

Mrs. Judson. Stay! I will give you money. 

Officer {contemptuously). Take her too. She 
also is a foreigner. 

Judson. I beg you, spare my wife. Her health 
is delicate. She has done no harm, trust me. 

Mrs. Judson produces money and offers it, but 
the jailer dashes it from her hand to the floor, then 
with malicious laughter tightens the cord with which 
he has bound Judson and drags him away. Women 
and little children who have entered look on, wailing 
and crying. Moung Ing, at a whispered word from 
Mrs. Judson, follows Judson. f All go out save Mrs. 
Judson and the Burmese woman with sick baby in 
her arms, who crouches weeping at her feet. Mrs. 
Judson appears not to observe her presence. She 
stands with closed eyes, praying silently, hands 
clasped upon her breast. Enter Moung Ing. He 
stands respectfully at a distance, his face bearing 
signs of great distress. 

Mrs. Judson {rousing and perceiving Moung 
Ing) . Oh, you have returned ! Tell me ! Tell me ! 
What happened ? 

172] 



Moung Ing (with hesitation). I followed the 
Teacher every step, until I could follow no more. 

Mrs. Judson. Was he treated less ungently, 
Moung Ing, after they departed? 

Moung Ing. Alas, mama, the wretches threw 
him on the ground yet again, when they reached 
the street, and drew the cords so tight that he 
scarce could breathe. 

Mrs. Judson. Tell me, faithful friend, every- 
thing. I can bear it. 

Moung Ing. I followed to the court-house, and 
heard an officer read before the governor of the 
city an order of the king condemning the Teacher 
to the Death Prison. 

Mrs. Judson. But surely they would not, they 
could not commit him to that prison, the Death 
Prison, without trial. 

Moung Ing. Mama, I saw him dragged into 
the Death Prison, loaded with three pairs of iron 
fetters, other white prisoners with him. They were 
led into Let-ma-yoon and the door was shut. 
(Moung Ing's voice trembles and chokes.) 

Mrs. Judson. " Let-ma-yoon " ? What meaning 
has this name, Moung Ing? Why do you turn so 
ashy pale? Why do you tremble so? Oh, speak! 

[73] 



Moung Ing (low and reluctantly). The words 
of that name mean " Hand shrink not." O mama, 
do not faint! Do not die! 

Mrs. Judson. " Hand shrink not." (Slowly, 
pressing her fingers to her forehead as if dazed and 
uncomprehending). " Hand shrink not " ? (Ques- 
tioningly, alarmed.) Let-ma-yoon — "Hand shrink 
not." (Calmly, but with the note of despair.) I 
comprehend at last, Moung Ing. This is what 
heathenism means when you cut deep enough — the 
essence of cruelty. In this chamber then proceed 
tortures from which the hand of a hardened ruffian 
even might shrink. (A pause.*) No, Moung Ing. 
This is not the time to faint or to die. Neither 
shall my hand shrink, nor my heart. Leave me 
alone, that I may consider what it is that I have to 
do, for something yet remains to be done. 

The woman with her sick baby still crouches on 
the floor. Mrs. Judson walks once up and down 
the veranda in deep thought. Suddenly she rouses, 
perceives the woman, bends, and takes the child in 
her arms. 

Mrs. Judson. Behold, and see if there be any 
sorrow like unto my sorrow. ( The child is strained 
to her heart.) My first-born sleeps in Bengal 
waters ; my little Roger, my very heart's desire, lies 
buried in Rangoon, out of reach, beyond kiss, his 

[74] 



little grave no longer my safe, sacred refuge. Shall 
the child now promised me be born fatherless in 
this dreadful land? If fatherless, then the innocent 
darling will be motherless also, for there are sor- 
rows too heavy for mortal flesh to bear. 

God the Son give me a part 

In the hiding-place of Jesus' heart ; 

God the Spirit so hold me up 

That I may drink of Jesus' cup. 

Death is short, and life is long: 

Satan is strong, but Christ more strong. 

Curtain. 



SCENE VII 

Time. February, 1825. 

Place. Interior of Ava Death Prison. 

Prison-yard surrounded by open pens, numbered. 
Prison-house — Let-ma-yoon at left. Groups of fet- 
tered prisoners lying or crouching on the ground, or 
hobbling about the yard followed by jailer. At right 
of rear center a man with feet in stocks. Judson, 
in rags and three pairs of fetters, lies before shed 
sixteen on ground, his head supported by a hard, 
cylindrical pillow, sewed up in a dingy, ragged 

[75] 



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2 Stent, en wAtot jttikrs w**e $tyuck en,. 
3 Magistrate's shtd. 

*f Tht gCLO (ev'S ^Ua-rdrTOOnu. 

&A h-h* Tou**d the prison* 
6 77te ivtncY prison. 
Y&tr The ce/A. 

PLAN OF THE DEATH PRISON AT AVA 



From Narrative of Henry Gou£er 
London, John Murray, 1 860 



[76] 



7/za£. iVear Aim, Doctor Price, " a tall, gaunt, raw- 
boned, light-haired Yankee," and Mr. Gouger, an 
English merchant, similarly shackled. From Let- 
ma-yoon at left come shrieks and groans of agony, 
and an occasional derisive laugh. A Burmese 
High Commissioner in light costume with rich, 
colored embroideries passes slowly through on visit 
of inspection and goes out at rear. 

Gouger (aside, in a low voice). Judson, never 
yet have I seen you and that wretched pillow 
parted. It can hardly add to your comfort, I should 
think. 

Judson (glancing anxiously around). I have 
been trying for a moment when I could tell you, 
unobserved, what is in that pillow. I want to en- 
trust it to your care if you outlive me, Gouger. 

Gouger. Ah! It contains jewels — money? 

Judson. Nay, man; something far more pre- 
cious — the work of ten long years of hard study — 
all indeed, save a handful of converts, which I have 
to offer for twelve years in a heathen land. 

Gouger. Speak quickly. The warden has his 
eye this way, and it is almost three. 

Judson. It is the manuscript New Testament in 
Burmese, the only complete, emended copy in exist- 
ence. And this, Gouger, the protection of these 
worthless rags (touching the pillow) makes the 
safest casket which either Mrs. Judson or I can 

[77] 



provide for it. I left the manuscript with her 
until the house became unsafe 

Enter Spotted Jailer, "Son of the Prison." 
He walks to stone {2) in center of yard and strikes 
three slow strokes on a large gong he holds in his 
hand. As he does this he looks from side to side 
with a malicious leer at different prisoners. A 
sinister silence falls. 

Jailer {pointing to prison enclosure at left). 
How quickly I can soothe the complaining of those 
in yonder ! At this moment a pleasant thrill of ex- 
pectation is passing through all their breasts. Do 
you not envy them? Ah, my lambs, let no such 
feeling arise. Ere long you too may be among the 
chosen, the fortunate. {He points to one and 
another, Judson, and the white prisoners.) You 
shall not always be passed over and neglected, my 
merry fellows. You are not forgotten. Oh, never, 
never! But restrain your impatience yet a day or 
two. {This is spoken with ferocious cunning and 
malice. He walks over to man in stocks, chucks 
him under his chin, and puts an arm around him 
in mockery, then administers a painful wrench. 
Prisoner shrieks. 

Jailer goes into prison-house at left. Perfect 
silence reigns. Enter Jailer, followed by a half- 
naked wretch with bleeding ankles and mutilated 
face. In silence he traverses the prison-yard, the 

[78] 



prisoner dragging himself after with moans, fol- 
lowed by under-jailer with uplifted club. They 
go out. 

Judson {staggering to his feet, lifts clasped hands 
in prayer). Have mercy on the soul of yonder 
miserable wretch thus called before Thee, and upon 
us, in this prison-house, alike miserable, who know 
not the day nor the hour when we too shall be 
summoned. 

White Prisoners. Have mercy ! 

A timid knocking is heard on door at rear. An 
under-keeper opens and falls back as one who sees a 
vision. Enter Mrs. Judson. She is pale, wan, 
wasted, ethereal, like a spirit rather than a flesh- 
and-blood woman. She is dressed in zvhite Burmese 
costume, head veiled. 'A little child closely wrapped 
in soft white draperies is clasped to her breast. 
Behind her stands the Bengalee servant, carrying a 
pannier of food. Mrs. Judson advances slowly to 
center, followed by servant. Judson starts back in 
amazement, joy and anguish expressed on his face. 
Mrs. Judson stretches out her left hand toward 
him. He limps painfully to her, with fifty-pound 
fetters on his feet. He is in rags, his hair long and 
matted, his face tragically worn, haggard, and deadly 
pale. When he reaches his wife he falls on his 
knees, lifts the hem of her robe, and presses it 
passionately and reverently to his lips. She makes 

[79] 



him rise; then, placing the infant in his arms, breaks 
into tears as she scans his dreadful aspect. 

Judson. My Nancy ! My heroic girl ! But you 
should not have come. It is two miles hither. You 
are still far from recovered. 

Mrs. Judson (dashing tears from her eyes and 
smiling). You are quite, quite wrong, dearest; I 
am really very strong. Look at our baby. Is she 
not sweet ? She will be three weeks old to-morrow. 
' Judson. Precious breath of heaven wafted 
through this inferno! But you, my own, are sadly 
pale. (Gives back the child.) 

Mrs. Judson. But I am not at all tired, and I 
have carried Baby all the way. Are you not proud 
of your wife? 

Judson (choking down a sob). Very proud, 
Nancy, my little Nancy. 

Mrs. Judson. Has it seemed too, too hard, my 
not coming all these long weeks? 

Judson. Not too hard now that I know that you 
live. 

Slowly, as if thinking the lines while speaking, 
looking steadfastly at the child in her arms, he 
repeats: 

Sleep, darling infant, sleep, 

Hushed on thy mother's breast; 
Let no rude sound of clanking chains 
Disturb thy balmy rest. 

[80] 



Wouldst view this drear abode, 

Where fettered felons lie, 
&nd wonder that thy father here 

Should as a felon sigh? 

Sleep, darling infant, sleep! 

Blest that thou canst not know 
The pangs that rend thy parents' hearts, 

The keenness of their woe. 

Mrs. Judson listens with strong emotion — then, 
with a smile of unutterable love to her husband, 
turns and speaks to the other white prisoners. 

Mrs. Judson. Have you had food enough since 
I have been unable to come with it? 

Price. We have not fared as we used to, Mrs. 
Judson, when you could come yourself, but we are 
all right. 

Gouger. We have almost always had a bit of 
rice once a day. 

Mrs. Judson (turning to servant). You shall 
have more now. (He opens basket and hands food 
to prisoners, who devour it with famished eager- 
ness. Mrs. Judson turns back to her husband.) 

Judson. My love, we shall scarcely have five 
minutes longer together. A word as to the manu- 
script. 

Mrs. Judson. Tell me, it is still safe, sewed into 
your pillow ? 

[81] 



Judson. Thus far, but no one can tell for how 
long. At any moment my few belongings may be 
snatched from me. During your absence all tokens 
point to fresh and added oppression awaiting us. 
Nothing but your fearless, persistent mediation, my 
Nancy, has obtained for us white men the freedom 
of this yard. Scores of poor wretches still languish 
in the unspeakable filth and poisonous stenches of 
yonder prison-house, where they sleep, suspended 
by their fettered feet from a pole — have no water, 
and food but rarely. No one knows how soon 
our lot will be to be returned thither. I like not 
the malicious, taunting leer which the Spotted Jailer 
casts upon us of late. 

Mrs. Judson. Oh, I will go to the chief com- 
missioner! He cannot refuse me! Never can you 
survive the horrors of that den of torture. 

Judson. I think there would be little use in go- 
ing to the commissioner, Nancy. Our fate depends 
really upon the fortunes of the war. The first 
important reverse which the Burmese army makes is 
bound to be followed by fresh cruelties visited upon 
us by the diabolical invention of our jailer. 

Mrs. Judson. Whatever befalls, I shall be near 
you, near you, heart of my heart, to the very end. 

Judson. I say this not to arouse fresh agony, 
but that you may not be taken wholly unawares, 
my wife, if swift changes for the worse overtake us. 

[82] 



Mrs. Judson. You cannot fear worse than Let- 
ma-yoon, the inner prison — and (Falters.) 

Judson. And the torture? Yes — a degree yet 
more dreaded is removal from thy near presence, 
my wife. 

Mrs. Judson. Where? How do you mean? 

Enter Spotted Jailer. 

Judson. I can say nothing. I only know a 
rumor creeps about among us that we white pris- 
oners are shortly to be removed to some remote 
spot, where the ministries and mediations of our 
friends cannot follow. 

Mrs. Judson (with fire). They shall remove 
you nowhither where my feet shall not follow, 
where my ministry and my mediation, my heart, my 
life, my all shall not be yours 

Spotted Jailer (approaching, with smile). 
Madam excites herself. Our beloved guest must 
not be fatigued by too long converse. He is look- 
ing ill — do you not think so ? It is time to go. 

Mrs. Judson recoils at the Jailer's approach 
and trembles, but does not turn to go. The Bengalee 
servant moves to her side. Judson turns a plead- 
ing look at Jailer. 

Spotted Jailer (harshly). Depart. Enough of 
this. You but make worse the prisoner's plight. 
If you do not go, we will have you dragged out, 

[8 3 ] 



madam. (Laughs.) This you would perhaps not 
find agreeable. 

Mrs. Judson, with bearing as of faintness and of 
terror, her baby clasped to her breast, moves slowly 
toward door in rear. 

Judson (his hand lifted). Send thy light and 
thy love, O my God, into the gloom of this be- 
nighted country. 

Spotted Jailer regards him silently, with sneer- 
ing menace. 

Curtain. 

Chorus 

She who, at Ava and at Oung-pen-la, 

Won brutal men to softness by her grace, 
Illumined prison glooms with her sweet face, 

And on despair shone like a morning star ; 
Herself, her story, and her sufferings won 

Homage from men, as if she came from 
heaven, 
In whose stout hearts she left a little leaven, 

Whose sacred workings may outlive the sun. 

— W. C. Richards. 



[84] 



>fr £J*ss**2s Qlfx%&t*& HJen >b 



SCENE VIII 

Time. February 24, 1826. 

Place. Headquarters of Commander-in-chief 
Campbell in British camp at Yandabo on Irawadi 
River. River-bank at rear. Right front — tent of 
commander-in-chief, with British flag floating. 
Left front — a larger tent, gorgeously hung with 
crimson and gold, above which float the American 
flag of 1826 and the British flag together. An 
Orderly at zvork placing armchairs, etc., in veranda 
before this tent. 

Enter Second Orderly. 

Second Orderly. Great preparations here! Is 
the King of England coming to this lovely land? 

First Orderly. You know who is coming, 
don't you? 

Second Orderly. Not I. 

First Orderly (brushing a costly rug on his 
arm with care). Haven't you heard of this great 
teacher by the name of Judson, who came to Burma 
from America and brought his wife a dozen years 
ago? 

Second Orderly. No, I never heard of such a 
man. Why should I? 

g [85] 



First Orderly. There is no end of talk about 
the two of them — what he has suffered and what 
courage his wife has shown — the only white woman 
in Ava she was, look you. You see he has been 
imprisoned by these Burman devils for a long time 
— two years or so — in one of their vilest holes. A 
half dozen Englishmen were kept there with him, 
you know, and they would all have died but for 
this Mr. Judson's wife. 

Second Orderly. Better die at once, to my 
thinking, than be given into the claws of those 
brutes. 

First Orderly. Well, Mr. Judson contrived 
not to die, thanks to his lady. And he knows the 
Burmese language as well as he does the English, 
writes books in Burmese, anything you please. The 
natives were shrewd enough to see that he had 
more brains in his little finger than they had in 
their whole royal family. So after Bandoola, their 
great warrior chief, was beaten and killed and the 
war as good as over, they dragged Mr. Judson out 
of his prison to act as their diplomatic interpreter 
and go-between with General Campbell. 

Second Orderly. A good job that! 

First Orderly. You can believe Sir Archibald 
was pretty sore to find men of our own blood given 
over to torture by those fiends in their filthy dun- 
geons. So now he has Mr. Judson as his guest 

[86] 



of honor, and there is nothing too much to do for 
him. 

Second Orderly. And the lady — is she coming 
too? 

First Orderly. Yes. She has been staying on 
the " Diana," but the general has ordered this tent 
here next his own for the two of them, and you're 
right — if it was their majesties, he couldn't do 
more. They will be coming now any moment. 
Why, man, Sir Archibald, an hour since, sent the 
staff officers and Sir John himself — his own son — 
with them, to escort the lady from the steamer. 

Enter Lieutenant. Orderlies salute and stand 
at attention. Military music in the distance, draw- 
ing nearer. 

Lieutenant. Is everything in order for the 
arrival of Mrs. Judson. 

First Orderly. Yes, sir. To the best of my 
ability. There are no flowers, sir. 

Lieutenant. Flowers are coming. 

Enter Bengalee boy with armful of flowers. 
Second Orderly takes them from him and carries 
them into tent. Boy goes out. 

Lieutenant. Now, give strict attention. The 
Treaty of Peace between us and Burma is to be 
signed, it is expected, to-day, unless some obstacle 
interferes. The Burmese Commissioners, with 
their suites, have arrived to confer on the terms of 

[87] 



peace with the commander. They will pass here 
about noon. But at any moment Mrs. Judson, 
wife of Sir Archibald's guest of honor, is expected 
to land. The boats are now in sight. You will 
wait upon the gentleman and lady here in their tent. 
See that every wish is met. Spare no pains. 

First Orderly (saluting). I will do my best, sir. 

Lieutenant. Very well. Dinner will be served 
in the large tepee on the river-bank, and you will 
inform Mrs. Judson that the general himself will 
wait upon her and conduct her to the table. 

Orderly. Quite so, sir. 

Lieutenant goes out. Enter from rear Mr. and 
Mrs. Judson. She is "slight, emaciated, graceful, 
almost ethereal. Her face very pale, expression of 
deep and serious thought; her brown hair braided 
over a placid and holy brow; her small, lily hands 
quite beautiful and very wan; they told of death in 
all its transparent grace, when the sick blood shines 
through the clear skin, even as the bright poison 
lights up the Venetian glass which it is about to 
shatter." 9 Mrs. Judson is dressed in rich Burmese 
costume, a white, transparent veil floating from her 
head. She leans on her husband's arm, and looks 
up with ardent joy into his face. 

Judson. Free — all free! Do you believe it? 
You, our darling child, I! Is this heaven, Nancy? 

9 Description of Mrs. Judson by an English officer, 1826. 

[88] 



Mrs. Judson. Yes, I think so, now that I see 
you again. When you are out of my sight I find it 
impossible to believe it true. And always {shud- 
ders) I seem to hear the step of that jailer 

Judson. Hush, dear love! Forget, forget! 
Put that thought of horror from your mind. We 
are free ; we are safe ; we are together. What shall 
we render to the Lord for all his benefits to- 
ward us? 

Mrs. Judson. Oh, see this beautiful tent ! Why, 
the whole place seems like a fairy scene. And 
look! What can it mean? There is our own 
dear flag, {Pointing to banners on tent at left.) 

Orderly. By your leave, madam, this tent is 
your own while you do the British Army the honor 
to remain in our camp. The other is the com- 
mander's. 

Mrs. Judson's lips tremble, and she tries in vain 
to speak. Wipes tears from her eyes. 

Judson. This is most notable kindness on the 
part of Sir Archibald. I shall soon attempt to 
thank him in person, for I must hasten this moment 
to his presence. Enter then, my wife, and know at 
last the sensation of a Christian environment, safe, 
sure, sacred — such as befits you. 

He kisses her hand. Goes out at right. Mrs. 
Judson follows Orderly to door of tent at left. 

Curtain. 

[89] 



►£ $J&&tx& Qb****** £B*** ^ 



SCENE IX 

Time. Two hours later. 

Place. The same. 

Military music. Gay fanfare or " Hail, the Con- 
quering Hero Comes." Enter from rear General 
Sir Archibald Campbell, walking alone in dress 
uniform of British Army. Behind him, two by two, 
an embassy of Burmese Commissioners and their 
attendants, in white native dress, six in all. The 
Chief Commissioner, distinguished by splendor of 
jewels, wears a pointed gray beard. Behind them 
several British staff officers, with them Judson. 
The procession advances to front of scene. Music 
ceases. All stand still and gaze with wonder and 
expectation around them. General Campbell 
goes to door of tent at left; the curtain is lifted. 
Mrs. Judson appears. The General takes her on 
his arm and advances toward the Commissioners. 
On seeing Mrs. Judson, the Chief Commissioner, 
the man with the beard, turns deadly pale, and 
begins to cower and tremble violently. The others 
show consternation and fear in their faces. 

General (pausing at a slight remove from the 
company, and looking searchingly along the line). 
Mrs. Judson, how is this? I judge that these gen- 
tlemen must be old acquaintances of yours? 

[90] 



Mrs. Judson. You appear puzzled, Sir Archi- 
bald. Yes, I recognize several faces. 

General (laughing). Judging from their ap- 
pearance, madam, you must have treated them 
very ill. Really, you had not struck me as capable 
of such cruelty as to inspire terror like this. 

Mrs. Judson. At least I am glad that my appear- 
ance does not intimidate. 

General. But really, now, what is the matter 
with yonder owner of the pointed beard ? He seems 
to be seized with an ague fit. 

Mrs. Judson (fixing her eyes steadily on the 
Chief Commissioner, which causes him to tremble 
yet more). I do not know, unless his memory may 
be too busy. He is an old acquaintance of mine. 

General. Ah! I can see. I fancy he infers 
danger to himself and to his Peace Treaty from 
seeing so dangerous an acquaintance under my pro- 
tection. 

Mrs. Judson. To tell the truth, he may fancy 
some cause for fear. I know the Burmese well, 
Sir Archibald, and if I were a Burmese Buddhist 
woman, instead of an American Christian, I should 
undoubtedly at this moment be asking you for the 
small favor of yonder gentleman's head on a 
charger. But I assure you I should have no use in 
the world for such a gift. 

[91] 



General. Pray tell me of your relations to 
him, dear madam. I assure you that I will put 
your confidence to no official use. 

Mrs. Judson. That being assured, for I really 
bear the man no slightest malice, I will describe 
what happened during my husband's imprisonment. 
It was during the terribly hot weather, and Mr. 
Judson was taken ill with fever. Our little daugh- 
ter was about two months old, I think. You see, 
he and Doctor Price, Mr. Gouger, and others had 
been suddenly thrown into the loathsome prison- 
house, and their fetters increased from three pairs 
to five. The air in Let-ma-yoon was stifling, loaded 
with foulness of every kind ; there seemed no chance 
for my husband's recovery unless he could be 
allowed to lie in the prison-yard. 

General. On my soul, madam, I should think 
not! I hope that man understands English, and 
can hear a word or two from this distance. 

Mrs. Judson. No, they do not understand Eng- 
lish, but the man's conscience gives him an intuition 
of what I may be saying. See the perspiration ooze 
from his skin. 

General. Poor devil! 

Mrs. Judson. Well, Sir Archibald, I had lain 
awake all night trying to devise some means to save 
Mr. Judson's life. Early in the morning, to escape 
the worst of the tropical heat, I started from our 

[92] 



poor, dismantled home to the house of our Chief 
Commissioner yonder to beg for the favor I speak of. 

General. That Mr. Judson should be trans- 
ferred, during his illness, to the prison-yard ? 

Mrs. Judson. Yes. I reached the house at an 
early hour, but was not allowed to come into the 
man's presence until noon, when the sun was smiting 
the city with fierce and fiery heat. On hearing my 
pitiful request, the man repulsed me with a rough 
refusal, giving no hope of the slightest ameliora- 
tion of conditions. I was turning away sorrow- 
fully, stricken to the very heart with hopeless dis- 
appointment, when his lordship seized a silk um- 
brella I carried in my hand, declaring that he was 
very glad to keep that as he could use it, and that 
all our belongings were by right confiscated to the 
government. 

General. Great heaven! Is this heathenism? 

Mrs. Judson. Heathenism's very essence, Sir 
'Archibald — pitiless cruelty, malicious extortion. I 
begged, I begged hard that he would give back the 
umbrella, for it was my only protection on my long 
return walk, but in vain. I told him I had no 
money, and begged that he would at least lend me 
a paper umbrella, as there was great danger of 
sunstroke at high noon. At this he laughed coarsely, 
and told me that the sun could not find one as thin 
as I, only stout people were in danger of sunstroke. 

[93] 



General. Will you permit me to wring his 
neck, madam? My fingers simply twitch with 
longing to perform the act. See the coward cower 
and cringe! 

Mrs. Judson. No. I have your promise that 
he shall not suffer at my hands. The story is told. 
He simply turned me out at the door on the blazing 
street, and I did not die, you see, after all. 

General. No credit to him that you did not. 
The scoundrel ! Look ! I believe he will fall in a fit 
in his terror. Let him sweat for it, I say! The 
tortures of the Death Prison ought to be reserved 
for such as he. 

Mrs. Judson. May I speak to him in Burmese, 
General Campbell? 

General (reluctantly). He ill deserves pity at 
your hand, but I see plainly that your role, now and 
ever, is that of a ministering spirit. (Makes a 
gesture, allowing her to approach the Commis- 
sioner.) 

Mrs. Judson approaches and says a few words 
softly in Burmese to the Commissioner, who is on 
the edge of fainting with terror. His countenance 
at once brightens, he salaams to the ground before 
her, and seeks to kiss the hem of her drapery. 
General Campbell draws her away, and takes her 
hand within his arm. 

[94] 



General. It is not fit that so vile a wretch 

should touch even the hem of your garment. (He 

leads on, the music is heard again, procession 

moves.) r* 

J Curtain. 



SCENE X 

Time. October 20, 1826. 

Place. Amherst. 

As the curtain is about to rise, the Chorus chants 
softly: 

" But 'tis great renown for a woman who must 
perish that she should have shared the doom of the 
godlike in her life and afterward in her death." 

— The Antigone. 

Veranda of small bamboo dwelling. (This could 
be same as in VII.) Mrs. Judson partially reclines, 
near front center, in a chaise longue, very pale save 
for a vivid flush of fever on her cheeks. Her eyes 
are very bright, her hair curls carelessly around 
her forehead and falls in long braids upon her 
shoulders. She wears a thin white negligee, and a 
piece of light oriental drapery is thrown over her 
limbs. A tabouret by her side holds cooling drinks 
and medicine. An army Surgeon in British uni- 
form is bending near, speaking soothingly to her. 

[95] 



Mrs. Judson appears not to notice his presence. 
An army Nurse stands at one side. The doctor 
turns away, and they confer, withdrawing to left. 

Nurse. What shall I do when she calls for her 
baby? She wants the poor little thing with her all 
the time. I am afraid it is bad for her. 

Surgeon (gravely). No. It will do no harm. 
We must consider that her very life having been 
offered up to save the life of her child, she must 
have the reward of seeing it in its restored con- 
dition. It is the sole joy left her now. 

Nurse. You speak as if her life 

Surgeon. It will be a matter of a few days yet. 
Her mind will probably wander more than before. 

Nurse. It is hard, so hard, to see such an angel 
suffer. 

Surgeon. Yes. But she will not suffer long. 
All her vital force has been expended in the service 
of others. She will become unconscious and cease 
to suffer before the end. Ah, if it were but pos- 
sible to get Judson back to Ava ! 

Nurse. I believe if he were to come, she would 
recover yet. Her whole soul seems to hang on her 
longing for his presence. 

Surgeon. Yes. It is piteous. (Goes out.) 

Mrs. Judson (who has lain with her head re- 
clining on her arm and with closed eyes, opens them 
and exclaims). I want my baby. Where is she? 

[96] 



Nurse #0^ 02^ and returns bringing the child 
in a light, straw cradle, which she places on the 
floor beside the couch. Mrs. Judson looks down, 
bracing her head with one thin, trembling hand. 

Mrs. Judson. How sweet she is ! How well she 
sleeps, my white little child! She is surely better 
now. I must write him to-day, so that he will not be 
grieving. I must tell him how she starts up when 
I say, " Papa," and points to the sea. Oh, the 
sea between us, now, when I have these pains! 
Where is the manuscript? Did Moung Ing search 
for it? 

Nurse. The manuscript is perfectly safe now. 
It is in the Teacher's desk. Moung Ing found it, 
you remember, in the prison-yard and brought it 
here. Have no fear. 

Mrs. Judson (looks steadily at her, smiles 

faintly). Have no fear! I have fear always of 

that jailer with the branded face. (Shudders and 
covers her face.) 

Nurse. You will never see him again. There 
is nothing you need fear now, nothing, dear lady. 

Mrs. Judson (moans). But the Teacher is long, 
long in coming, and the new missionaries are long 
in coming. I am alone. I must die alone. It 
is the will of God. Tell the Teacher that I could 
not write. The disease, you see, is most violent. 

[97] 



* <••,,,• x •: \ -"% 



I fear that I cannot bear the pains. O my God, 
suffer me not for any pains of death to fall away 
from thee. Oh, for greater willingness to suffer! 
Joy cometh, joy cometh in the morning. Do you 
believe that is true? I will go up to the Golden 
Feet and lift up my eyes to the Golden Face, and 
ask for the fetters, for the five fetters to be taken 
off. They cut deep! See the poor, bruised ankle! 

Nurse. Mr. Judson has no fetters now on his 
feet, you remember. 

Mrs. Judson (starting and staring). Oh, no. 
I was confused. I am ashamed of my despondency. 
You see (with a confidential tone), I thought be- 
cause my troubles had lasted so long, that they 
would never end. I thought the night would have 
no dawn. That is wrong. There will be light when 
the Teacher comes. But months pass and never a 
letter. Let me see — it was two years and a half 
when we first came, before any letters from home 
reached us. I ought not to mind. . . Hush, pre- 
cious baby, papa is praying. You must not call 
him now. See — she smiles when she hears his 
name. . . Tell him I suffer; tell him that all that is 
left now of his Nancy is only his and God's. I 
think there is nothing now of what used to be Ann 
Hasseltine. You see, I have rambled, rambled, 
and rambled, and you lose yourself so by and by. 
. . Mother said I was always rambling; she wanted 

[98] 



me to come home straight from school, but Harriet 
and I liked to go down to the river. For there are 
violets growing on the bank; . . you can see how 
the grass is quite blue with them. How fast the 
river flows, and how the little waves dance in the 
sun! Harriet said my feet danced like waves and 
never tired. That was when I had never seen 
fetters, you know. . . The river is black now, and 
roaring. It rises. It sweeps my sweet Harriet 
away in its flood. Come back ! Come back ! . . She 
does not hear me. . . I saw her face plainly, Nurse. 
Nurse. You saw it? 

Mrs. Judson. Yes, she looked as she did that 
day in the church in Salem, with her big eyes so 
dark and solemn. . . That night on the " Caravan " 
we four sang every hymn we loved 

Jesus, at thy command 

I launch into the deep; 
And leave my native land 

Where sin lulls all asleep. 

That was my favorite. {Repeats.) 

Jesus, at thy command 
I launch into the deep. 

Nurse (offering medicine in a glass). Will you 
not drink this now, and try to sleep a little while? 
It is night, you know, and time to sleep. 

[99] 



Mrs. Judson (looking steadfastly at her). But, 
you know, it is in my heart to live and die with 
the Burmans. How hard, how hard it seems to get 
passage to Burma! Yes, it is growing dark, but 
I will embark in the little boat and try to over- 
take the ship. We have to row against the tide. 
It is so difficult, and the ship is far off. 

Nurse. Yes, you are too tired. You must sleep 
now. 

Mrs. Judson (taking the glass in one hand, 
pointing with the other). But there are the lights 
of the ship. I can hear the waves now. You will 
be good to my baby? 

Nurse. Do you suffer more ? Is the pain harder 
to bear? 

Mrs. Judson. No. I feel quite well now, only 
very weak. Tell the Teacher that I could not write. 

Curtain. 

Solo (softly) 

The sands of time are sinking, 

The dawn of heaven breaks, 
The summer morn I've sighed for, 

The fair, sweet morn awakes. 
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, 

But dayspring is at hand ; 
And glory, glory dwelleth 

In Immanuel's land. 

[ioo] 



Oh ! well it is forever — 

Oh ! well for evermore : 
My nest hung in no forest 

Of all this death-doomed shore; 
Yea, let this vain world vanish, 

As from the ship the strand, 
While glory, glory dwelleth 

In Immanuel's land. 

I've wrestled on toward heaven, 

'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide; 
Now, like a weary traveler 

That leaneth on his guide, 
Amid the shades of evening, 

While sinks life's lingering sand, 
I hail the glory dawning 

From Immanuel's land. 



H [ IOI ] 



^ £J*s**# Cfav*&t*& jOQ^n ►£ 



SCENE XI 

Time. A few months later. 

Place. As in previous scene. 

A group of native Christians stands in veranda, 
watching. Enter Judson. He wears a long black 
cloak, his face is seamed and furrowed with grief. 
Moung Ing and the Bengalee servant advance to 
meet him with downcast eyes. He stretches out a 
hand to each in silence. All on veranda weep and 
steal quietly out. 

Judson (to Moung Ing). She does not come to 
meet me. I cannot cross the threshold. Tell me, 
where have you laid her? 

Moung Ing. Teacher, come and see. 

Goes out, slowly followed by Judson, with bowed 
head, Bengalee servant following at a distance, sob- 
bing and beating his breast. 

Voice (from within). 

What are these that glow from afar 
These that lean over the golden bar, 
Strong as the lion, pure as the dove, 
With open arms and hearts of love? 

[102] 



They, the blessed ones gone before, 
They, the blessed for evermore. 
Out of great tribulation they went 
Home to their home of heaven — content. 

Soprano Solo 

" These are they that came up out of great tribu- 
lation." (From Gaul's "Holy City.") 

Enter from right Spirit of Love, clothed as in 
first appearance. Enter from left Spirit of Evil, 
clothed as in first appearance. He has an air of 
triumph and exultation, and steps proudly toward 
center. Seeing Spirit of Love, he steps back. 

Spirit of Evil. And so you are here ! I should 
have supposed that of all places this would be the 
one in which you would least desire to appear. 

Spirit of Love. You are mistaken. I dwell 
among these scenes perpetually. 

Spirit of Evil. Your presence seems singularly 
unavailing, then. These two messengers of yours 
have been delivered over, soul and body, into my 
hand, and my hand, I am willing to admit, has not 
been light upon them. The weaker lies buried 
yonder, and that broken-hearted wretch, her hus- 
band, returns from his embassy — his fool's er- 
rand, rather — his wild dream that he could per- 
suade the king of this country to permit freedom 
of worship within its borders — and finds an empty 

[103] 



house, one poor grave, and a miserable, wailing 
infant ready to fill another. 

Spirit of Love. This is all true, and yet, no life 
of these is spent in vain. 

Spirit of Evil. Not in vain? What has this 
poor, self-devoted toiler, left by his fellows to 
struggle alone, to show for fourteen years of toil? 
For two years and a half he has held no Chris- 
tian service for the people of this land; his first 
group of converts at Rangoon is scattered far and 
wide; the mission-house he founded there is a heap 
of ruins; his daring attempt to carry his mission to 
the capital — to the king's very court at Ava — was 
a pitiful failure, resulting only in his own imprison- 
ment and the death of his wife. No mortal woman 
could long survive the terrors of her lot during 
those two years of his prison life in Ava and in 
Oung-pen-la. She broke at last. I confess, for 
your satisfaction, that this man, this woman, were 
cast in heroic mold and endured beyond the meas- 
ure of their kind, but their day is over — their 
feeble, childish beating of hands against the im- 
pregnable wall of oriental religions — is a dream of 
the night, over and passed. 

Spirit of Love. Not so. Your vision is dim 
and short. 

Spirit of Evil. Never was a rout more com- 
plete, a victory more sweeping than has been won 

[104] 



in crushing this petty attempt, which was inaugu- 
rated on the other side of the seas in the year 
1813. An embassy of five young men was set 
apart by the wise men of the West one day to sail 
out in debonair fashion and demolish what I believe 
is generally termed in provincial fashion, " The 
Stronghold of Heathenism." Where are they now? 
Two of the men of that band are dead; other two 
found it expedient, being wiser than their fellows, 
to return to their native land! The man who has 
just left this scene is weeping over his broken hopes 
on yonder grave, a grave soon to be forgotten and 
deserted. 

Spirit of Love. Could you see farther, you 
would be less arrogant. But you are given over to a 
strong delusion that you may proclaim a lie. The 
grave, which you assert will ere long be neglected and 
forgotten, is destined through coming generations 
to be visited as a sacred shrine, that of one of the 
noblest of God's saints. To the man, who mourns 
there in exquisite grief at this moment, is given a 
long life of glorious, of immortal achievement for 
Burma's millions. 

Spirit of Evil. You are bound, however, to 
confess that at this moment the failure of the mis- 
sionary enterprise is complete. 

Spirit of Love. I confess that what I foresaw 
at the outset has been fulfilled : Suffering, sickness, 

[105] 



sorrow, bonds and imprisonment, death, agony, 
heartbreak. This for to-day. To-morrow, I see 
the fruits of the long patience of the saints; I see 
the Bible given to a godless people; I see cruelty 
and oppression yielding to law and liberty; I see 
hatred making way for love ; I see the Name, which 
is above every name, exalted in this land, and hearts 
bowing before it. Never was false word falser, 
than the word failure here. From the life of that 
fearless woman, who died for Burma, new forces 
have sprung up already among this people, to whom 
her life and death have revealed her Lord. From 
the labors of him who now agonizes alone yonder 
is destined to arise a mighty multitude of men and 
women in this land and in other lands, who shall 
follow his Master. Our purpose cannot be defeated 
by suffering, disappointment, or death. Our hope 
is invisible, immortal. 

'Abashed. Spirit of Evil goes out. 

The vine from even- living limb bleeds wine — 
Is it the poorer for that spirit shed ? 
Measure thy life by loss instead of gain; 
Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured 

forth ; 
For love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice 
And whoso suffers most hath most to give. 

Curtain. 

[106] 



Chorus and audience rise and sing, to " Russian 
Hymn." 

Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise! 

Exalt thy towering head, and lift thine eyes ; 
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display, 

And break upon thee in a flood of day. 

See a long race thy spacious courts adorn ; 

See future sons and daughters yet unborn 
In crowding ranks on every side arise, 

Demanding life, impatient for the skies. 

See barbarous nations at thy gates attend, 
Walk in the light, and in thy temple bend ; 

See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate 
kings, 
While every land its joyful tribute brings. 

The seas shall waste, the skies to smoke decay, 
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; 

But fixed his word, his saving power remains ; 
Thy realms shall last, thy own Messiah reigns! 

— Alexander Pope. 
Interlude. 



[107] 



IV 

THE APOSTLES TO THE WEST 

1814-1826 

IN SIX SCENES 



" Not only do I conceive it proper that a mission 
should be established in the West, but indispen- 
sably necessary" 

— Luther Rice, 1815. 



^ £p£5**2i Q)%vx&t*& 0$en ® 



IV 

SCENE I 

Tim^. Mcry, 1814. 

Place. Before Tabernacle Congregational 
Church, Salem, Massachusetts. 

Doctor Worcester, pastor of church, is seen 
emerging from church door. Enter from left Doc- 
tor Bolles, pastor of First Baptist Church. 

Bolles. Good evening, Doctor Worcester. 

Worcester. Ah, neighbor Bolles! Good eve- 
ning. Have you been out of town? I have not 
seen you for a week, I am sure. 

Bolles. Yes, I have been having my small part 
in making church history, as you had your great 
part a few years ago. I have been in Philadelphia, 
assisting at the birth of a national Baptist Foreign 
Missionary Society. 

Worcester. Indeed! I congratulate you, but 
I recall that your denomination in Boston organ- 
ized a society of this nature several years ago. 

Bolles. Yes; that, however, is a local affair. 
There are several such. But there now exists one 
" General Convention of the Baptist Denomination 
in the United States of America for Foreign 

[mi 



Missions." A clumsy title to my thinking, but it 
tells the story. 

Worcester. And it is not clumsier than our 
own : The " American Board of Commissioners for 
Foreign Missions." How well I remember that 
June day four years ago, when Samuel Spring and 
I worked out that name and organization as we 
drove from Andover over to Bradford. 

Bolles. That was a great day, Doctor Wor- 
cester. 

Worcester. A great day in promise and pos- 
sibility; but, in actuality, it was and remains the 
day of small things. The American Board was a 
feeble plant, set in uncongenial soil. There was 
no general enthusiasm or even approval, but a 
species of lukewarm assent in the church at large. 
Nothing but the importunity of the young men 
waiting to be sent forth called out the organization. 
I remember one of our older men saying: "We 
had better send them out, for this Judson will never 
let us rest ! " It was the missionaries who created 
the Board, not the Board that called out the mis- 
sionaries. 

Bolles. Perfectly true in our case as well as 
yours. We need not go into the story. It must 
always have a certain painful side, Doctor Wor- 
cester. To lose Judson and Rice full well we 
know was a serious loss, and a grievous disappoint- 

[112] 



ment to the church Fathers, they having strained 
every nerve to send them forth. This I realize, and 
always have. 

Worcester. It is a gratification to hear you say 
this, Brother Bolles. 

Bolles. There is a sharp edge to a disappoint- 
ment like this; but, after all, when we get away 
from the immediate effect and gain the larger 
vision, do you not feel, Doctor Worcester, that we 
can discern a purpose in this event? We Congre- 
gationalists and Baptists are, after all, one in aim, 
though divided in certain matters of method. Four 
years ago, yours was the only society in this land 
prepared to send out foreign missionaries. To- 
day, a second one has been established, enlisting 
new forces, hitherto unutilized. You have the 
Bombay Mission, with Gordon Hall and Samuel 
Newell doing noble work. We have the Burman 
Mission, with Adoniram Judson. Two centers in 
place of one! 

Worcester. You speak of Judson only. He is 
still alone, then, on his field ? 

Bolles. Mrs. Judson is hardly less effective a 
missionary than her husband. But otherwise he is 
alone, thus far. 

Worcester. Luther Rice, then, has not yet 
started back to the East. 

["31 



Bolles. No. The man is absolutely indispen- 
sable as our accredited agent on this side, for the 
present. Doctor Worcester, Luther Rice is the 
gift of the Standing Order to us Baptists, and a 
gift of incomparable value. Men of his caliber and 
training are what we wofully lack. We Baptists 
have been handicapped through our whole history 
by proscriptive laws, as you may hardly under- 
stand; they remain to this day, albeit a dead letter 
in effect, on the statute-book of Massachusetts. 
We are still a scattered, feeble folk, by many even 
despised. We cannot compare with you in num- 
bers, in culture, in organization, in prestige. We 
have produced no Judsons nor Rices. 

Worcester. Judson certainly is a great scholar. 

Bolles. He is not only a scholar, he is a saint 
and a seer, to my way of thinking. 

Worcester. But as for Rice — he is, to be sure, 
energetic, and possessed of a certain gift of oratory, 
but he lacks the refinement of Judson. 

Bolles. Perfectly true. Simon Peter lacked the 
refinement, the exquisite spiritual nature of John, 
but the Lord used them both. Luther Rice, like 
Simon Peter, is cast in a heroic mold. He is a 
young giant, rugged, vigorous — the typical pioneer. 
Sometimes a trace of the old berserker rage is sug- 
gested in his consuming zeal and headlong attack. 
But I tell you, without Rice we Baptists might 

[in] 



have groped on indefinitely without effecting a 
broad, comprehensive organization. 

Worcester. Really? You surprise me. I had 
not supposed Rice's ability lay in this direction. 

Bolles. He has statesmanlike qualities. He it 
was who bade us advance beyond our separate, 
local societies, such as the one formed here in 
Boston a year ago, and fuse our whole force into 
one national body. He himself worked out the 
type of organization adopted this week in Phila- 
delphia. 

Worcester. Is it possible ? 

Bolles. Oh, yes. To Rice belongs the honor 
of conceiving and carrying into execution the entire 
plan of this, the national Baptist Convention for 
Foreign Missions. And I tell you, Brother Wor- 
cester, he spares not himself in the cause. He has 
given up all idea of domestic life; you know per- 
haps of his engagement, in his Andover period, to a 
Miss Eaton? 

Worcester. Yes. I believe she refused to go 
out to India, and he therefore broke the engage- 
ment. 

Bolles. Yes. He never alludes to that experi- 
ence, but evidently it was final. He lives now for 
one thing only: To further the spread of Christ's 
kingdom. In order to prepare the way for the 
organization just now successfully effected, he has 

[us] 



himself ridden horseback through many of the cen- 
tral and southern States, personally rallying the 
scattered Baptist forces to come together and act as 
a unit. Thousands of miles, by night as well as by 
day, the man has ridden. His garments are worn 
and rusty; he is often shaken by chills and fever 
from travel through malarial regions; but neither 
the summer heat nor winter cold stays him in his 
course. He reminds one of Coleridge's lines : 

I pass like night from land to land; 

I have strange power of speech; 
The moment that his face I see, 
I know the man that must hear me; 

To him my tale I teach. 

Worcester. I find all this most interesting, but 
you will not judge me harshly if I can hardly re- 
frain from the thought that what you have gained 
we have lost. 

Bolles. But if God has lost nothing, and the 
sum of missionary achievement has been doubled, 
we can still be thankful. 

Worcester. I am with you there. Amen. 

Curtain. 



[116] 



^ {Jjesswgi Ql?x%&t t & QJetT ^ 



SCENE II 

Time. June, 1815. 

Place. Interior of Baptist parsonage in Cats- 
kill Mountains. Simple, frugal appointments; order 
and neatness observable. Pastor's wife, Sarah 
Peck, lights two candles, which she places on a 
table in center, covered with white cloth and laid 
for one person, with crockery, etc., of the period. 
A little girl of three years (Hannah) is playing 
quietly with blocks on floor. Window and door at 
rear. Eli, five years old, is looking from window. 

Sarah Peck {going to window). I wish papa 
would come now, Eli. His supper will be quite 
uneatable with keeping over so long. 

Eli. I've looked as hard as I can look, but he 
never is coming. 

Sarah Peck. There! Isn't that the sound of 
old Tim's hoofs? 

Eli. I don't think, mother, 'cause it's too quick. 

Sarah Peck {sighing and sitting down in wooden 
armchair). No, they have gone past. Well then, 
children, come and say your prayers and get ready 
for bed. 

Eli. It isn't bedtime till my father comes, is it, 
mother ? 

1 [117] 



Both children come to her knee. 

Sarah Peck. You don't want it to be, do you, 
darling boy? We'll see. 

Eli and Hannah {join hands and repeat in con- 
cert or sing). 

Great God, and wilt thou condescend 
To be my Father and my Friend? 
I, a poor child, and thou, so high, 
The Lord of earth and air and sky? 

Art thou my Father ? Let me be 
A meek, obedient child to thee ; 
And try in word and deed and thought, 
To serve and please thee as I ought. 

Sarah Peck. That was very good. (Kisses 
them.) Not a single mistake. 

Eli. What is my father doing so long away, 
mother ? 

Sarah Peck. He is at a meeting away off in 
Lattintown, Eli, and he expects to see a real mis- 
sionary, who has come back from India, where the 
people are all heathen. You know what a mis- 
sionary is, dear? 

Eli. He is a man with beautiful feet on the 
mountain. 

Hannah. I know ! I know ! He tells the poor 
heathen about God. 

[118] 



Eli. What is a missionary like, mother? Is 
he very big? Does he cry all the time? 

Sarah Peck {laughing). I don't know whether 
he is big or not. Why should he cry all the time? 

Eli. Because the heathen are so wicked and eat 
up their little babies. 

Sarah Peck. Oh, no, Eli; only a very few 
heathen do that. This missionary has been in India, 
where the people are not terrible like that. 

Eli. Oh, yes ; I 'member. They make the croco- 
diles eat them for them ; don't they, mother ? 

Enter John Peck in riding dress, saddle-bags 
and whip in hand. Wife and children go and meet 
him joyfully. He lays aside hat, etc., and seats 
himself at table; wife brings food. 

Sarah Peck. I want to hear about the meeting. 

Children go aside, and quietly play with blocks. 

John Peck. A remarkable session, dear wife. 
We have sat at the feet of that great man, Luther 
Rice. Our souls have been kindled as with fire 
from above. He is a colossal figure. 

Sarah Peck. How I wish I could see him and 
hear him speak! 

John Peck. You are soon to have that privi- 
lege. 

Sarah Peck. How is that to be? 

John Peck {rising impetuously from table, put- 
ting his hand on her shoulder, and speaking with 

["9] 



emotion). This very night, my girl, our humble 
parsonage is to be exalted by the coming of this 
prince among Israel. 

Sarah Peck. Why John, do you mean that 
Luther Rice is coming here, to our house, and to- 
night — for supper — for lodging? I must hurry to 
get things ready. 

John Peck. He could not come with me, not 
having a horse; but will be driving over with the 
Thomases. Yes. He may be here at any moment, 
although they started later, taking supper before 
leaving. 

Sarah Peck (hastily clearing table). And here 
are the children still! They ought to have been 
put to bed long ago, John. 

Eli. No, father; we had to see you first. 

John Peck (taking them both in his arms). 
Sarah, I am glad they are awake. Mr. Rice has 
to fare forth at sunrise to-morrow morning on his 
way to New York. These babes may never again 
have opportunity of looking upon him. 

A knock at the door. John Peck, the children 
clinging to his shoulders, springs to open it. Enter 
Luther Rice. 

Rice. Well, well ! Blessed are you, John Peck !. 
I did not know the extent of your riches. (Lays 
hands tenderly on children's heads.) Mrs. Peck, 

[120] 



I rejoice to meet you. Your husband and I have 
become, all at once, great friends. 

Sarah Peck. That is surely a great honor for 
John. 

Eli {aside). Mother, he is big, but he doesn't 
cry ; he just laughs. 

Sarah Peck. Will you be seated here, Mr. 
Rice, for a little, while I put the children to bed, 
and prepare a chamber for you? 

Rice. How desperately inconvenient it must be 
to have strangers come in upon you without warn- 
ing in this fashion. 

Sarah Peck. No. It is the greatest joy in the 
world. I shall be proud and happy all my life to 
say that Luther Rice, the great Judson's great 
friend, has passed a night under our roof. 

She has taken the children by the hand to go. 

Rice. How kind of you. O Mrs. Peck, did you 
ever chance to meet Ann Judson, " Nancy " as we 
who love her call her? 

Mrs. Peck (as if awed). Oh, no. 

Rice. Well, you two would love each other. 
She is a sweet creature; a very sister she has been 
to me in all the trying experiences we passed 
through together in India. I hope you will meet 
her sometime. 

Mrs. Peck (glances quickly from Rice to Peck 
with a look of startled question). Thank you. 

[121] 



Goes out with children. Rice and Peck ar£ 
seated in old-fashioned armchairs at center. 

Rice. A happy man you must be, with such 
a wife and bairns and a home in which to dwell 
with them in love. How prettily Mrs. Peck spoke 
of Judson. 

Peck. You will find that all Baptists delight to 
do him honor. 

Rice. I tell you, Brother Peck, it warms my 
heart as I go about to find that name Judson — the 
name of my dearest earthly friend — such a name 
to conjure by. Everywhere I meet the same kin- 
dling enthusiasm when the people find that I am his 
companion and friend. 

Peck. I wonder if it signifies to you what it 
does to me. I know perhaps better than you, reared 
in the Standing Order, can — how the fact of the 
pledging of yourself and the Judsons. to Baptist 
principles in the face of such appalling obstacles has 
fairly recreated our people. It has suddenly awa- 
kened us to a new consciousness of dignity and re- 
sponsibility. I believe it is bound to crystallize our 
scattered forces, and perhaps in short order, into 
a solid, unified body, capable of entering upon far- 
reaching action. 

Rice. Yes, the Baptists are showing themselves 
capable of becoming a mighty force in Christian- 

[122] 



izing the world, and I thank God for the minor 
part he has given me in this awakening. 

Peck. Do you realize, Mr. Rice, that you have 
had a major part in the awakening of one poor 
Baptist minister to a sense of his own respon- 
sibility ? 

Rice. Of whom are you speaking? 

Peck. Of one John Mason Peck. 

Rice. Ah! I have discerned that the spirit of 
missions was knocking at your heart's door. 

Peck. For two years, brother, my soul has been 
urgently drawn out to God in prayer for the 
heathen, and also for this American continent, so 
large a part of which is still in darkness. I have 
desired to be led, if God will, into some field of 
missionary labor. But not until I listened to your 
sermon yesterday did I feel myself definitely called. 

Rice (rising and pacing the floor). And you do 
at this time so regard yourself? 

Peck (solemnly). I do. 

Rice. Then is it possible that you may be the 
man to join Judson in Burma? 

Peck. I hesitate to declare what may be a 
disappointment to you, Brother Rice, but ever since 
I have thought on the subject of missions I have 
had my eye upon the people west of the Mississippi, 
particularly the Indian nations. I have often won- 
dered why no attempts were made to send the 

[123] 



gospel to them. That region, above all others, 
would be my choice as field of labor. 

Rice. In a sense this is a disappointment, for 
Judson, in his isolation, is always on my heart, since 
I am not myself permitted to return to him nor 
know when I shall be. But this apart, John 
Peck, my own experience enables me to sympathize 
with yours. Our little band at Williams College 
long dwelt upon the purpose of a mission to the 
Indians, or to Greenland, or some of the islands. 
It was only when I was at Andover, and had come 
under the spell of Judson's enthusiasm for Burma, 
that I was led seriously to contemplate an Asiatic 
mission. 

Peck. Then you do not consider a mission to 
our own frontiers as of inferior importance? 

Rice. My brother, let me say, with all the em- 
phasis of which I am capable, not only do I conceive 
it proper that a mission should be established in 
the West, but indispensably necessary. If you are 
called to labor in such a mission, I shall bid you 
Godspeed and further your purpose with all my 
heart. 

Peck (springs up and paces floor). I thank 
you. The magnetism of your sympathy seems to 
turn the water of my purpose into new wine. My 
heart leaps for joy at your recognition. 

Rice. And your wife — how about her? 

[124] 



Peck. My wife is an earnest fellow worker 
and helpmate, wise, loving, self-denying. I can 
trust her to place no obstacle in my way. 

Rice. Be thankful for such a wife. But I can- 
not deny that obstacles in the way of a mission to 
the Missouri Territory exist, and formidable ones. 
Such a project cannot be carried through without 
many delays. Our General Convention, organized 
a year ago, has in view foreign missions solely. 

Peck. That I know, and I am not forgetting 
that its next meeting, as it is a triennial conven- 
tion, will not occur until the year 1817. 

Rice. Perfectly true. And prior to that no new 
measures can be considered. 

Peck. What, then, do you advise me to do ? 

Rice. Get to work for missions, man, here on 
your own field, as fast and as hard as you can; 
study the facts of heathenism ; visit churches ; preach 
at associations; agitate; agitate; agitate. 

Peck (excitedly). Good! I see! There is a 
missionary work ready to my hand, even now. 

Rice. Yes, and you will get your hand into the 
work, and your heart and your head. 

Peck. My head is the very thing I must speak 
of. It is ill- furnished, Brother Rice. I am deficient 
in intellectual training; I am unqualified for the 
work to which I feel myself called. 

Rice. You are — how old? 

[125] 



Peck. Twenty- eight. 

Rice. A year younger than Judson. Why, you 
are only a boy yet. Fill out what you feel your de- 
ficiencies. There is plenty of time. Work at Eng- 
lish, geography, history, all that — every evening, 
and we will look out for the Latin and Greek later. 

Peck. You inspire me with hope and courage 
far beyond what I dared expect. 

Rice. John Peck, I have in my life but one 
ruling purpose. That is, the evangelization of the 
world. For this, one thing is needful. Men. Men 
called of God to become apostles. To-night I have 
discovered, potentially, such a man. How then 
should I be found failing to impart to him all the 
hope, all the courage which fills my own heart? 

Curtain. 



SCENE III 

Time. November, 181J. Sunset. 

Place. Clearing among pine-barrens in the wil- 
derness of southern Illinois. Brushwood and boul- 
ders at right. Under protection of these is drawn 
up a canvas-covered, one-horse prairie wagon; 
horse has been taken out, is not in scene, or is 
tethered at a distance with bag of fodder. Toward 
center, but near wagon, a large iron tripod, from 

[126] 



which hangs a brass kettle. Various accouterments 
of travel lie about. No person present, but from 
behind scene comes the sound of an axe dealing 
vigorous blows, felling a tree. 

Enter from left Isaac McCoy, carrying whip and 
saddle-bags, in riding garments, but with the clerical 
touch. 

McCoy {looking curiously around him). There 
is some pioneer in this wilderness before me then. 
This looks unlike an Indian camp. 

Sounds of axe cease. 'A crash of tree falling is 
heard. Enter John Peck in shirt and trousers, axe 
over shoulder. 

Hello, stranger! What are you doing here? 

Peck. I am building a theological seminary. 

McCoy laughs. 

McCoy. With your axe? I heard a tree fall 
just now. 

Peck. Yes. That is the seed. 

McCoy. Seriously — you talk of a theological 
seminary in these barrens? 

Peck. These will not always be barrens, 
stranger. I predict for this Missouri Territory a 
population of three millions fifty years hence. 

McCoy. You are safe in that prediction, I be- 
lieve; safe in projecting a theological seminary. 
May I ask if the structure yonder is the residence 
of the founder? {Points to wagon.) 

[127] 



Enter from left Sarah Peck with Eli and 
Hannah, all bearing bundles of sticks and twigs for 
a fire. 

Peck. Yes. The present residence at least, and 
yonder come his wife and children. I am John 
Peck of York State, stranger, missionary in these 
parts for the Baptist Convention. 

McCoy {holding out both hands). John Peck! 
But I might have known it could be no other. 
What a blaze of gladness kindled by unexpected 
fires! I am Isaac McCoy of Kentucky, newly ap- 
pointed by the same board to evangelize the Indians 
of the Wabash. 

The men shake hands with eager cordiality. 
McCoy greets Mrs. Peck and children. They pro- 
ceed to lay the fire. Mrs. Peck makes preparation 
for serving soup in tin cups. The men, each with 
a tin cup and a block of corn pone, throw themselves 
on ground on blankets near fire. Mrs. Peck and 
children retire to covered wagon. 

McCoy. Is that their sleeping apartment? 

Peck. Yes. Pretty luxurious that would be for 
men of our habits, but the women and children 
must lie a little softly. 

McCoy. Bless their hearts! It is none too 
softly, I fear. 

Peck. I tell you, my friend, that wife of mine 
is worth a dozen book heroines! On all this toil- 

[128] 



some march never once has she complained of the 
hardships or the loneliness. She left behind with- 
out a murmur our cozy, homelike parsonage, kind 
neighbors and friends. As for my youngsters — 
they are becoming the hardiest little savages you 
ever saw. Now come! You will pass the night 
with us, I hope? 

McCoy. Where do you propose to sleep? 

Peck. Right here, with my feet to the fire. I 
shall gather several armfuls of dry leaves; they 
make a fine bed and a fragrant. You know how — 
I can see you are no tenderfoot. There are blankets 
enough in the wagon for both of us. I can give 
you a better bed and a cleaner than you will find in 
Shawneetown, where I last saw what is known as 
civilization. Save the mark ! 

McCoy. I believe you, brother. What roof can 
equal yonder sky? What inn provide lodging more 
wholesome, or air one-half so pure? I abide gladly, 
and share your hospitality. 

Peck. The soil is remarkably dry here — a great 
point you know. 

McCoy. Indeed, I know. Many a night I have 
slept on the snow in my clothing after swimming 
swollen streams, and many more I have made my 
bed on marsh ground. Why, man, this is lodging 
fit for a king. 

[129] 



Peck. You travel altogether on horseback, I 
take it? 

McCoy. Yes, at present. I am just now on a 
scout to discover the most favorable point at which 
to establish a mission among the Miami Indians. 
When that is settled, I shall have my family 
with me. 

Peck. You get over the ground much more 
rapidly on horseback than I can with the wagon. 

McCoy. How far have you traveled in that 
fashion? It is certainly slow. 

Peck. Something less than twelve hundred 
miles. 

McCoy. What a journey ! Where did you start 
from? How long has it taken you? What point 
are you bound for ? 

Peck. Bound for St. Louis ; started from Litch- 
field, Connecticut, on Friday afternoon, July twenty- 
fifth — a little more than three months ago. 

McCoy. You at least know where you are 
bound for. You are definitely appointed, as I have 
heard, to work as a Baptist missionary in St. Louis. 
Among the white population, I believe; not the 
Indians ? 

Peck. Primarily among the white citizens, yes; 
but my sympathies are strongly with the red men 
also. The United States has a hard problem to 

[130] 



work out among these pagan tribes whom it has 
despoiled. 

McCoy. Do you feel, as I do, Brother Peck, that 
sooner or later there must be a separate society 
among Baptists for the purpose of evangelizing 
our own country? 

Peck (emphatically). It has got to come, Mc- 
Coy. You and I, another man or two besides, have 
been sent out by the Triennial Convention, to be 
sure — but that Convention, created to uphold Jud- 
son in the first instance, is of necessity first and 
last and always foreign missionary. The work in 
this country is inevitably regarded by it as a side 
issue. 

McCoy. There are tremendous issues facing the 
Christian church in these United States. They 
must be met squarely. This vast Missouri Territory 
alone constitutes a colossal responsibility. It is 
destitute, practically, of churches and schools 

Peck. Yes; destitute of all that goes to up- 
build a Christian civilization, and yet its magnificent 
resources, its lakes and rivers, its rich soil, its 
mineral wealth, will undoubtedly call hither a 
mighty commercial population in the next fifty 
years. (Rising and grasping the other's hand.) 
McCoy, if we missionaries do not by the grace 
of God lay a foundation of righteousness and 

[131] 



godliness here in the great West, this land will be 
given over to the Spirit of Evil. 

McCoy. The difficulties sometimes seem insur- 
mountable, and what are we to meet them, single- 
handed and alone? (Enter Mrs. Peck, blankets 
on her arm.) I am wrong. We are not alone. 
God works with us, and beside each stands a true 
fellow worker. Mrs. Peck, let me say how deeply 
I revere you for your courage in accompanying your 
husband on this almost incredible journey. 

Mrs. Peck. We were called to come out into a 
land we knew not, neither our fathers ; were we not, 
John? (She clasps her husband by the hand, first 
laying down blankets near fire.) The call comes 
to women no less than to men, brother ; do you not 
think so? 

McCoy. At least my dear wife thinks so. She 
is ready to join me whenever I decide on my field 
of labor. 

Mrs. Peck. And do you not think our work is 
needed as well as yours? The women and children, 
whether among the whites or Indians, as we have 
seen them on our long journey, are pitifully igno- 
rant, helpless, and needy. Woman's work must 
keep pace with man's in this wilderness, and you 
will find women no less ready than men to respond 
to the call to brave hardships and heartbreaks for 
Jesus Christ's sake. 

[132] 



McCoy (grasping her hand). Brave words, 
bravely spoken, and prophetic words too. (Gives 
his left hand to Peck.) 

Peck. We stand here, hand in hand, three hum- 
ble messengers of the Son of God, with the stars in 
the naked heavens keeping watch over us as we lie 
down to rest. Around us stretches the trackless 
wilderness, in which range untamed beasts and 
savage men. To-morrow we part and go our several 
ways, knowing not what is before us, save that toil 
and trial, labors and afflictions abide us. 

McCoy. Let us then regard ourselves as stran- 
gers and pilgrims, having no continuing city here, 
but seeking one to come. For life, brother, for 
life, sister, we are enlisted for the service of men 
and God. In this service be it ours to live, to labor, 
and to die. Curtain, 

Chorus 

Oft in danger, oft in woe, 
Onward, Christian, onward go; 
Bear the toil, maintain the strife, 
Strengthened with the Bread of Life. 

Let not sorrow dim your eye, 

Soon shall every tear be dry ; 

Let not fear your work impede, 

Great your strength, if great your need. 

k [ 133 ] 



Let your drooping hearts be glad ; 
March in heavenly armor clad; 
Fight, nor think the battle long, 
Soon shall victory wake your song. 

Onward then to glory move; 
More than conquerors ye shall prove; 
Though opposed by many a foe, 
Christian soldiers, onward go ! 



SCENE IV 

Time. October 5, 1825. 

Place. Site of city of Chicago. Open field; in 
background three or four small, scattered houses. 
On the ground at left are seated in orderly assembly 
twenty or thirty Indian braves, women, and children, 
in costume. They face right, where Isaac McCoy, 
standing on rude platform, is lifting his hands in 
closing benediction. Beside him is seated Judge 
Lieb, a United States Government Commissioner. 
Just behind McCoy, like a guard of honor, stand 
two Indian youths of fine person and bearing, Gosa 
and Noaquett. 

All rise and stand with bowed heads in silence. 
McCoy descends from platform and goes out at 
right, with Lieb, Gosa, and Noaquett. 

[134] 



Topenebe. (This chief and the two with whom 
he converses are magnificently attired in full Indian 
regalia.) The father is a speaker of good words. 

Noonday. He is more than that. He is content 
to suffer hunger and cold, famine and fever, the 
death of sons and daughters, that he may teach us 
and our children the way of life. 

Chebass. He promises to help us to build 
houses, make fence, plows, such-like things. He 
will ask the Great Father in Washington, by his 
servant the Commissioner, to give us a blacksmith 
and a school. 

Topenebe. He is poor, the paleface preacher. 
Often he has no corn for his wife, for his young 
children. It is too hard to be hungry. I gave my 
father one sackful. I will not lose by it. He will 
give me back when he gets corn. The Great Spirit 
teaches him goodness. 

Noonday. For my own part, I acknowledge 
that I know nothing correctly about the Great Spirit. 
I am glad to hearken to the words of the father. 

Loud hallooing and shouting behind scenes, grozv- 
ing nearer. There burst in at left Two Traders, 
waving their hats and calling out boisterous 
greetings. They are followed by two half-naked, 
half-breed Indians, who are harnessed to a rude 
sledge on which lie some pieces of lumber and 
several demijohns. A wild yell of excitement goes 

[135] 



up from the Indians. They now stand apart and 
watch, as the Traders swiftly erect a species of 
counter or booth with the fitted boards. On it they 
place the demijohns, and bring out a dozen or more 
bright tin cups. Their hats are on one side, their 
clothes shabby but showy, their manner full of 
laughter, chaffing, challenge, and braggadocio as they 
are thus engaged. The Indian women silently plead 
with the braves to go away; the children appear 
terrified. In the background, dim, scarcely seen, 
Spirit of Evil. Noonday goes out at right. 

First Trader. Now come, all ye faithful 1 
Preaching is thirsty work. Wet your dry throats, 
and have a few moments of honest sport before the 
paleface preacher gets you again. 

Second Trader pours liquor into cups and waves 
them out toward the group of Indians. These ap- 
proach, at first shamefaced and reluctant; but as 
soon as they taste the liquor they grow bold and 
noisy. All the braves now gather before counter and 
drink. Instantly the scene becomes one of wild and 
furious action. The women and children huddle 
together with frightened faces. The braves dance 
and shout, fight, and brawl; some are knocked down 
by others and lie in drunken stupor. Some of the 
younger men approach the women with maudlin 
proffers of caresses, whereupon shrieks go up from 
the band of women. All the while the Traders are 

[136] 



>5& qJjz&xusl (J^rrfet^ 0$en >$< 

pouring out the whisky and taking in the coins at a 
rattling rate. 

Chebass (stammering). Preaching good' — fire- 
water better. Hurrah for the paleface ! 

Topenebe. I hate these last. They make me 
big with badness, but I cannot help drinking when I 
see and smell. (Drains a cup and sinks senseless 
to ground.) 

Enter from right Noonday with McCoy and 
Commissioner Lieb. 

McCoy (stretching out his hand with a gesture 
of passionate despair and addressing Lieb). To 
what purpose do we labor? Surely preaching is 
vain! Faith itself seems vain. Every hope, every 
prospect for the welfare of these poor, downtrod- 
den people is brought to naught by men like those 
(pointing to Traders) who swarm everywhere and 
bring crime, debauchery, depravity in their track. 
I assure you, Mr. Commissioner, that horrors un- 
speakable are of constant occurrence among these 
tribes when under the influence of whisky. 

Lieb (turning to traders). Get this stuff away 
and yourselves into the bargain, and take good care 
not to show your faces in my presence again. 

Traders have already demolished their booth. 
They pile stuff on sledge and beat a hasty retreat 
to the left. Spirit of Evil goes out. 

I have seldom received a more painful impression, 

[137] 



a more acute disappointment. Yesterday, Mr. Mc- 
Coy, I visited your Christian establishment at Carey ; 
its order and beauty excited in me the most 
delightful sensations. I beheld a colony firmly 
settled, numerous, civilized, happy, with every bless- 
ing flowing from the well-regulated efforts of your- 
self, your noble wife, and your associates, who, 
from a sense of divine call and consecration, devote 
yourselves without remuneration to your Christlike 
labors. It was a touching spectacle to see those 
aborigines join in your Christian prayers and 
hymns, their faces animated by an uplifting sense 
of religion. I saw there the germs of a new and 
noble future for the Indians. My hopes were 
kindled. To-day I listen to your moving discourse 
on the love of God, and I witness its effect upon the 
minds of these simple, teachable, primitive men 
and women. They listened to you reverently and 
earnestly. But, what has followed? Hardly has 
your voice ceased its words of heavenly invitation 
when the devil himself, in the person of these in- 
famous whisky sellers, snatches the good seed from 
their minds, and turns them soul and body down 
the road to hell. What can be done ? 

Noonday {advances and salutes Lieb zvith dig- 
nity). Is it permitted, great chief, that a word be 
spoken by an Indian? 

Lieb. Say on. 

[138] 



Noonday. If the Great Council of the Seventeen 
Fires and if the Great Father himself, whom you 
call President, feel the interest to preserve our people 
which you have told us of, all-powerful as they are, 
why do they not command your people to abstain 
from seeking, in the way you mention, our destruc- 
tion? The Great Father has but to will it and his 
will shall be done. He can punish; he can save us 
from the ruin which surrounds us. We can do 
nothing of ourselves. We are but as children, but 
we should be happy and healthy if whisky were not 
brought to us. I have spoken. 

Lieb. You have spoken, Noonday, with truth 
and feeling. I blush for my country. I find no 
apology for my government, but if any measures 
can be taken to rid you of this poison which is des- 
troying the life of your people and the hopes of 
your heroic friend, the missionary, I promise you 
to use them when I am again in the presence of the 
Great Council and the Great Father. 

Slowly, with humiliated bearing, all the Indians 
go out, save Noonday. McCoy and Lieb stand 
in solemn, thoughtful silence. 

Noonday (to Lieb). I have faith, a little faith in 
the Great Father at Washington and in the Great 
Council, but I have more faith (he turns to McCoy) 
in the Great Father to whom you pray. Promise 
me that you will yet have patience with my poor 

[ 139 ] 



people, that you will still pray, still labor among us. 
For only in your God is hope for my people. 

McCoy. I promise you. My life is pledged to 
this people. 

Curtain. 

Chorus 

Christian, dost thou see them 

On the holy ground, 
How the troops of Midian 

Prowl and prowl around? 
Christian, up and smite them, 

Counting gain but loss ; 
Smite them by the merit 

Of the Holy Cross. 

Well I know thy trouble, 

my servant true; 
Thou art very weary, 

1 was weary too; 

But this toil shall make thee 

Some day all mine own, 
And the end of sorrow 

Shall be near my throne. 



[ 140 ] 



►p JJesuuss Q)?xi&t*& ijfett >J< 



SCENE V 

Time. Early in the year 1826. 

Place. Treasurer's office of the Baptist General 
Tract Society in Washington, D. C. Large desk in 
the center. At small desk at the left sits Clerk, 
writing. Door in rear at center; also door at right. 
A knock is heard on door at rear. 

Clerk. Come in. 

Enter Isaac McCoy with Gosa and Noaquett 
in their Indian costume. 

McCoy. Is this the office of the Reverend Luther 
Rice, treasurer of the Baptist General Tract Society ? 

Clerk. It is the Tract Society treasurer's office, 
but as Mr. Rice has recently withdrawn from the 
position of treasurer, it is not, strictly speaking, his 
office. 

McCoy. Then I may not hope to find him here. 

Clerk. Come in by all means. Yes, you are 
quite sure to meet him if you wait a little. He 
comes in for a few hours still each morning. If 
you and the young gentlemen will follow me, I will 
show you to a more comfortable room for waiting. 

Gosa and Noaquett look all the zvhile wonder- 
ingly and shyly around them. They follow McCoy 
and Clerk, who opens door at right. All but Clerk 

[ho 



go out. Enter from rear Luther Rice, who throws 
down his hat, greets Clerk, and goes to desk in 
center. 

Clerk. A missionary from the West has just 
come in, Mr. Rice, and is waiting to see you. 

Rice. John Peck ! Yes, I was expecting to meet 
him here this morning. He has ridden horseback 
most of the way from Illinois — was due to reach 
Washington last night. Show him in at once. 

Clerk opens door at left, and ushers in Isaac 
McCoy, Gosa, and Noaquett. 

Rice {advancing with outstretched hands, but 
perplexity on his face). This is not the man I ex- 
pected to see, but a man whom I welcome without 
introduction. {Shakes hands cordially zvith McCoy, 
Gosa, and Noaquett.) 

McCoy. I am Isaac McCoy, from the Wabash 
District. 

Clerk goes out. 

Rice. And among men called of God to work 
for the Indian tribes there hath not risen a greater. 
Isaac McCoy, I welcome you in the name of the 
Master whom we serve. 

McCoy. I thank you. John Peck — Father Peck 
we all call him in the West — is also on his way. 
I came upon his trail at several points as we rode 
through Ohio and Pennsylvania. 

Rice. John has been doing magnificent work in 

[142] 



the Missouri Territory, but how he lives since the 
Triennial Convention withdrew its support and left 
him to the five dollars a week of the Massachusetts 
Society, is beyond my comprehension. 

McCoy. Five dollars a week for a man with 
wife and children is not a large stipend. Still, it 
might keep them in hominy, and we get along out 
our way if we have that. But I fear John Peck 
is wearing himself out with his labors. 

Rice. You look as if the same might be said of 
you, McCoy. 

McCoy. I have had a little difficulty on the jour- 
ney in keeping in the saddle continuously, on ac- 
count of an attack of fever. You see, we had a 
temperature of six degrees below zero while we 
were crossing the Ohio wilderness, and I was not 
in strong health when we started. 

Rice. Possibly you were a little chilled, brother. 

He breaks out into laughter, covering a burst of 
emotional feeling. Wipes his eyes — puts his arm 
around McCoy, but is unable to speak for a moment. 

Gosa (timidly). Our father is good; he cares 
not for himself, only for Indians. 

Noaquett. All Ottawas love our father; all 
Putawatomies too, and Miamis. He lay down his 
life for us. He too sick, but he ride on and on so to 
pray the Great Father for us and the Great Council 
of the Seventeen Fires. 

[143] 



Rice (grasping the hand of each of the Indian 
youths). Well spoken. You cannot love this man 
too much, for in him shines forth the very love of 
Christ. Is it true, brother, that you are come to 
Washington to petition President Adams in behalf 
of the tribes ? 

McCoy. Yes. I am now fully convinced that 
in the present stage of development of the Indians, 
still very primitive, the only possible salvation for 
them is colonization. They must be helped to settle 
in a region from which they cannot be forced by 
the aggressions of the white population; where we 
can build up their moral and mental stamina until 
they can resist the ruinous influences of the whisky 
traders. 

Rice. I have no doubt of the justice of this con- 
viction. 

McCoy. At the present time the situation of 
our Indian tribes west of the Wabash is nothing less 
than heart-breaking. They are children in knowl- 
edge and experience, and around them hover the 
merciless crew of traders, like buzzards around a 
carcass, to debauch them with whisky and pick them 
bare. Their woes and their wrongs, Brother Rice, 
cry aloud to heaven. The fever in my bones is 
nothing to the flame burning in my heart. Yes, I 
have come to memorialize Congress 

[144] 



A knock at the door. Enter John Peck. He 
and Rice meet with brotherly affection, in which 
McCoy participates. All are seated. Gosa and 

NOAQUETT go OUt. 

Rice. Well, now then, John Peck, you have won 
your spurs! Nine years' unbroken labor in the 
wilderness, where you have hewn success out of 
obstacles as hard as the gates of hell and not unlike 
them, qualify you to speak as a father of the church. 
Tell us what is uppermost in your mind as you come 
east for the first time since 1817. 

Peck {with a gesture, indicating the room in 
which they sit). Look around you, and you will 
see the materialization of one of my deepest desires 
— the fulfilment of one of our greatest needs in the 
West. 

Rice. You mean this two-year-old Baptist Tract 
Society? We are still in the day of small things 
here. 

Peck. I do. Its work is of infinite importance 
in the evangelization of the West, and its work will 
grow and develop in a dozen directions which we 
do not now foresee. For instance, much of my time 
is given to the establishment of Sunday-schools 
and of local Bible societies; our Tract Society will 
in time do that work for us. House-to-house visita- 
tion by men of God, however simple and uneducated, 
who can talk familiarly with the people and leave 

[145] 



behind religious literature is most urgently de- 
manded. 

Rice. Colporters! Exactly. It is one of the 
measures we have most keenly in mind. It is com- 
ing. We must furnish them with small wagons to 
carry their printed matter, and send them through- 
out the West and South. 

Peck. There can be no more effective form of 
missionary labor. I hope it will not be long delayed. 
But nearer my heart yet is the matter of a school in 
the West for training young men for the ministry. 

McCoy. When I first met you, John Peck, you 
were chopping down trees in order to build a theo- 
logical seminary. 

Peck. I am chopping them still, and I shall keep 
on until I see a range of buildings put up, adequate 
for a hundred students. We have a beginning made 
at Rock Spring already. If I meet with any encour- 
agement in the East, we shall have a Baptist theo- 
logical seminary in Illinois in the year 1827. 

Rice. -Amen. So be it. I glory in your courage, 
John, and I believe in your enterprise. But I can 
see that your brain holds half a dozen other proj- 
ects of world-wide importance, which are sure to 
come to pass in time, you being a latter-day prophet 
of the Lord. Give us the next one, man. 

Peck. Very well, I will. Isaac McCoy will join 
with me, that I know, when I say that the crying 

[146] 



need in this country to-day, viewed from the stand- 
point of your pioneer missionaries is 

McCoy (joins). A Home Missionary Society! 

Rice. You must talk with Bolles, of Salem, and 
Jonathan Going, of Worcester, about that. They 
are deeply impressed with what they consider the 
cruelty of letting men go out into the wilderness, as 
you and Brother McCoy have gone, with no support, 
or with a capricious and inadequate support, such as 
the Triennial Convention has thus far extended. 

Peck. I have no words of condemnation for the 
Convention. They have been led astray by the false 
reports of false brethren in their relation to myself, 
but I bear them no ill will. I have had my dark 
days; but, brothers, we are all feeling our way. 
This is the day of small things, as you said just 
now, Luther Rice, in regard to our newly formed 
Publication — I should say, Tract Society. We Bap- 
tists make some mistakes, but we are an honest 
kind of folk after all, and someway the Lord puts 
up with us, and pretty generally gives us a chance 
to try again. 

McCoy. The Triennial Convention is doing well 
the work it was called into existence for — the work 
of foreign missions. It is clearly proved inadequate 
to the systematic carrying on of missionary work 
in the United States. 

[147] 



Rice (bringing down his fist upon the desk with 
emphasis). A separate society is demanded, and 
will come. 

Peck (rising). And may I be given some humble 
part in its establishment, for I know the Western 
country and its needs by heart. 

Rice. And you have them at heart if ever man 
had. 

He and McCoy rise. r All three come forzvard 
and stand together. 

Brothers, look back a little and take courage. 
Twelve years ago, Baptists in the United States had 
no national or comprehensive organization of any 
kind for the spread of the gospel. We were a scat- 
tered folk, each church looking little beyond its own 
struggle for existence. We have now a well-organ- 
ized society for the conduct of foreign missions, 
and a magnificent band of men and women on the 
field, with Adoniram Judson at their head. We 
have perfected now, here in Washington, a second 
national organization, fit coworker and helpmate to 
the first, this General Tract Society. The power of 
the press and of the printed page is now made 
tributary to the evangelization of both East and 
West as never before. Institutions for higher re- 
ligious education are springing up here and there; 
I need hardly say, dearest to my heart is Colum- 
bian College, here in Washington. We are moving 

[i 4 8] 



forward all along the line, and the end is not yet. 
How dark it grows ! 

While he has spoken it has grown dark. 

Peck {sternly). My brothers, let us not deceive 
ourselves, for it does indeed grow dark. Darkness 
covers the land and thick darkness the people. We 
three stand here at this central heart of our nation, 
our country, to-day and seek to look forward, to 
discern its future. What do we see as we peer 
through mists and vapors? A vast, rich country, 
opening wide its every gate to the incoming of all 
nations under heaven; in the West a wild, pagan, 
native people embittered by treachery, demoralized 
by the greed of the white man; in the South, thou- 
sands of African slaves awaiting a day of deliver- 
ance, which cannot be far off; East and North, a 
white population deeply tainted by the godless lust 
for gold — gold at any price — be it of honor, of 
mercy, of manhood. This much we can see now 
and here, but there are powers at work hidden 
from us. There are dangers and crises before the 
American nation of which it does not dream; prob- 
lems which we must meet righteously or our doom 
is sealed. Only the church of Christ can save 
North America, and the church only, if it awakes in 
time to its responsibility. 

Complete darkness covers the scene; Rice, Mc- 
Coy, and Peck go out. 

l [ 149 ] 



^ {J* 5 **** QJjvJs*^ ffifeen ^ 



SCENE VI 

Tim^. Following immediately the preceding. 

Place. The same, office furniture having been 
removed. 

A strange, lurid light envelops the scene; then 
it grows very dark; again it is illuminated, as if a 
struggle were taking place between light and dark- 
ness. There is a deep rumble as of thunder. The 
form of the Spirit of Evil can be seen gliding for- 
zvard from the rear. Spirit of Love advances from 
the right and confronts him. 

Spirit of Evil. 

We meet as of old, 

But not in the East Land. 
Your servants grow bold ; 

We turn to the West Land. 
Not passive we bend 

To feel your hand smite ! 
To the enemy's country 

We carry the fight. 

Watch them coming, coming, coming. 
Hear the tom-toms sharply drumming. 
All the nations hither come; 
Still there's room, there's room, there's room ; 
Jews — your Christ to crucify! 

[150] 



Swami's smooth — to make reply! 

Shinto-worship ! Buddhist sages ! 

Krishna! Kali! Tantric rages! 

Watch them coming, coming, coming. 

Hear the tom-toms sharply drumming. 

All the nations hither come ; 

Still there's room, there's room, there's room. 

Worshipers of ice and fire ! 

Those who starve and feed desire ! 

All are welcome, welcome still — 

Fatten, batten as you will. 

Mary and all saints ascend : 

See your people lowly bend ! 

Candles, masses, 

Heaven-passes, 

All for gold 

Bought and sold! 

Buy your souls! 

Sell your souls! 

Here's the market, 

Mammon market! 

Watch them coming, coming, coming. 

Hear the tom-toms sharply drumming. 

All the nations hither come. 

Still there's room, there's room, there's room. 

'Tis a gold strand — - 

Tis a free land — 

Free to sell in, 

[151] 



►J< JJj^iusi Gb**&t*& OJen ^ 



Free to sin in, 

Free for all strange gods to dwell in! 
Hither come ! Down the Christians ! 
Down the Christ 

During the incantation of Spirit of Evil a 
motley throng has poured in from left, weaving 
in and out together in a weird, mystic, half -confused, 
and half-rhythmic figure or procession; music loud, 
barbaric, with tom-toms and cymbals. 

Esquimaux,, Africans, Indians, Mexicans, 
Miners and Cowboys, Cubans, Hindu Swamis, 
Mohammedans, Bahaists, Buddhist Priests, 
Jesuits selling indulgences, Japanese, Chinese, 
Italians, Scandinavians, Russians, Poles, Ger- 
mans, Irish, French, Dutch, Spaniards, Turks, 
Lithuanians, etc. 

In all, from thirty to eighty persons in character- 
istic costume, with such emblems or symbols as are 
required. 

All repeat shrilly together. 

Tis a gold strand — 

'Tis a free land — 

Free to sell in, 

Free to sin in, 

Free for all strange gods to dwell in. 

Hither come ! Down the Christians ! 

Down the Christ 

[152] 



Spirit of Love (advances with lifted hand). 
Silence ! 

Darkness covers the whole scene, and against the 
darkness flash out the words: 

NORTH AMERICA FOR CHRIST AND 
CHRIST IN EVERY HOME 

Curtain. 



[153] 



FINALE 



>$< JJ*SA*25 (jfyvx&t*& QQ^n ^ 



FINALE 

The stage is brightly lighted; at the left hangs 
from above a white banner, bearing in large, red let- 
ters, Orient; at the right a similar banner bears 
the word, Occident. Between these a smaller ban- 
near bears, 1813-1913. Near front in center stands 
Spirit of Love, in his hand a long branch of palm. 

Spirit of Love. A hundred years ago there was 
a man of God led by love to go to the Orient to 
seek and to save that which was lost. Reaching his 
chosen field of labor, Burma, in the year 1813, this 
man Judson, one of the first five American mission- 
aries, devoted himself, in the midst of persecutions 
and sorrows manifold, to the evangelizing of the 
people of the land, until his death in the year 1850. 
When he died he left behind him as his legacy to 
the Burmese people the entire Bible translated into 
their language, besides a Burmese grammar and 
dictionary. He left seven thousand native Chris- 
tians, each one publicly baptized on personal pro- 
fession of faith, while hundreds had died in faith 
before him. Sixty-three churches of Christ had been 
established in Burma, under the care of one hundred 
and sixty-three pastors and teachers. Truly he rests 
from his labors, and his works do follow him. 

[157] 



Trumpet notes herald entrance from left of 
Burma, personified by a man in Burmese costume, 
bearing transparency: 

Native Baptist Christians in Burma, 1913, . 10 

Spirit of Love. But this is only the first-fruits 
of the adventure of love entered upon by Judson. 
From his labors, directly or indirectly, there sprang, 
in 1821, the Baptist Mission to Africa, broken off 
and started anew fifty years later. 

Trumpet heralds entrance of Africa with trans- 
parency giving number of Baptist Christians, 1913. 

Spirit of Love. In 1833 began the Baptist Mis- 
sion to Siam. 

Trumpet heralds entrance of Bengal with trans- 
parency. 

Spirit of Love. In 1835 began the Mission to 
China. 

Trumpet heralds entrance of China with trans- 
parency. 

Spirit of Love. In 1836 came the Mission to 
southern India. 

Trumpet heralds entrance of India with trans- 
parency. 

Spirit of Love. In 1837, the Mission to Assam. 

Trumpet heralds entrance of Assam with trans- 
parency. 

10 In 1913 the number of native Baptist Christians in Burma was 
49,214; in Africa, 4,272; in Bengal, 707; in China, 4,940; in southern 
India, 58,277; in Assam, 12,057; in Japan, 3,580. 

[158] 



Spirit of Love. Not until 1873 came the Mission 
to Japan. 

Trumpet heralds entrance of Japan with trans* 
parency. 

These seven personified nations, in characteristic 
costume, enter from left and range themselves a little 
in rear of center, below banner inscribed " Orient.'' 
Standard Bearer enters with banner of the "Amer- 
ican Baptist Foreign Mission Society." 

Spirit of Love. There was a woman given to 
this apostle, Judson, to labor with him for the peo- 
ple of Burma. Ann Hasseltine appears on the 
page of missionary history as an illuminated initial 
letter. She wrought, even to the laying down of her 
life, for the native women and children that they 
might know the true God and Jesus Christ whom he 
has sent. What works have followed her? 

Enter from left, heralded by trumpet, a procession 
of native Christian women, girls, and children 
in costume of Burma, Africa, Siam, China, India, 
Assam, japan. Following them a white-robed 
figure bearing a white banner with silver letters: 

" Woman's Baptist Foreign Missionary Society, 

1871 " 

She is follozved by the procession of American 

WOMEN, TEACHERS, MISSIONARIES, DOCTORS, and 

nurses, their vocation indicated by emblems or 

[159] 



costume. Following these, appear Women of the 
Board, girls, and children, all in white, with ban- 
ners on which appears the cross; these representing 
girls' and children's work for missions. These all 
range themselves on left, in ranks around the Seven 
Nations. 

Spirit of Love. There was a man who went 
forth to the Orient with Judson, imbued with the 
same missionary spirit, consecrated even as he to the 
Crusade of the Cross. This man returned to Amer- 
ica in the year 1813, to discover whether the Bap- 
tist denomination would rise to the support of a 
Baptist mission. With one heart and voice they 
responded and constrained the missionary, the 
friend of Judson, that he should abide with them, to 
stir the minds of the brethren to a fuller compre- 
hension of the world's needs. Under Luther Rice's 
powerful stimulus the National Organization for 
Baptist Missions was effected in 1814. In 1815, his 
preaching awakened John Peck to the missionary 
demands of his own country. In the year 1824, this 
great champion, Rice, was instrumental in founding 
the Baptist General Tract Society, now the Publica- 
tion Society. 

Trumpet heralds entrance from center, at rear, of 

REPRESENTATIVES of the AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLI- 
CATION Society, who carry transparency or banner 
and take place in center of stage. 

[160] 



Spirit of Love. Luther Rice was the man who 
stood between the East and the West in the creative 
hour of the American Baptist church, linking the 
needs of the one to the sympathies of the other; 
sustaining and developing by his enthusiasm the 
cause in both East and West. As Andrew went and 
called Peter, so did Luther Rice call John Peck, 
who arose, forsook all, and followed. Of heroic 
stuff, this strong, stern wrestler for God labored 
from 1817 until he died in the far West, constituted 
in himself for years a Home Missionary Society, and 
in 1832 had part in founding this organization. 
Isaac McCoy, the great apostle to the Indians, going 
out to the Wabash Valley in the same year that 
John Peck journeyed to the Mississippi, has left a 
record of labors and suffering for Christ's sake 
which constitutes him a martyr to the cause. These 
men with their wives antedated the Home Mission- 
ary Society, and called forth its creation. What has 
followed ? 

Trumpet heralds entrance from right of repre- 
sentatives of Home Mission Fields, in appro- 
priate costumes, each bearing transparency inscribed 
with its title. They are as follows: Indian, Mex- 
ican, American Negro, Salvadorian, Porto 
Rican, Cuban, typical immigrants, twenty-four 
nationalities of American Baptist Home Mission 
Society. These all range themselves under the 

[161] 



4j $J&&xi2k (Jurist's* tffen ^ 

banner " Occident." Standard Bearer with ban- 
ner of " American Baptist Home Mission So- 
ciety." 

Spirit of Love. The wives of the pioneer mis- 
sionaries to the West labored and sacrificed no less 
nobly for the cause than did the men. From the 
day of Sarah Peck and Christiana McCoy, there has 
been an unbroken line of women workers in Home 
Mission Fields. 

Trumpet heralds entrance of Joanna Moore, 
missionary to Freedmen in 1863, with Negro chil- 
dren leading her by the hand. Next conies a white- 
robed figure bearing banner, white and gold, with 
inscription "Woman's American Baptist Home 
Mission Society, 1877." There follow representa- 
tives of the various classes and nationalities reached 
by women's home mission workers, chiefly girls and 
children, including Indians, Negroes, etc., slum 
and immigrant children. After these come repre- 
sentatives of the Women's Board, of the Chicago 
Training School, missionaries, nurses, district 
visitors, teachers, each distinguished by some 
emblem. These all file in, and are ranged on the 
right, the two portions now merging together in a 
wedge-shaped form, the Publication Society hold- 
ing center, the whole broad front now given to the 
little children of all nations and classes. Spirit of 
Love at the apex, crowning all. 

1 162 ] 



Spirit of Love (his arms outstretched over all). 
In Christ there is no East and West, no far and 
near. The work is one. 

A long trumpet blast behind scene. 

Spirit of Love. 

Trumpeter, sound for the splendor of God! 
Sound the music whose name is law, 

Bid the anarch of night withdraw, 
Too long the destroyer has worked his will, 
Sound for the last, the last of the wars ! 
Sound for the heights that the Fathers, trod, 
When truth was truth and love was love, 
With a hell beneath, but a heaven above, 
Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us, 
On to the City of God. 

A long trumpet blast, repeated behind scene. 

Chorus and audience rise and unite with com- 
pany on stage in singing: 

Battle Hymn of the Republic 



end 



[163] 



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